A Waste of Dreamland

 


a well worked waste creates time-for-all.
(all waste is worked for the credit of the bearer), as
no
two
things  (things)       are ever all-right,

And what thing do you bring me tonight,
                                                        ghost lover?
    ( I cannot see in the dark of all this blind light)

No more time      for your love          of me ~
I am      fast-fading,    unable    to   grasp at anything
                          so sanguine and fair and
                       naked with delight,  (as per the game)
                                          profound
                   in bluegreen glow never seen before.

Old Gradaddy Death is here whether or not we know
        the fantastique games that sprout right out (of)  my  gambling
                 house, ripe with odds against a better tomorrow,
                     my daddy lost a leg to a creeping necrosis,
            and no goddamn way to take up from his bed, and
                                          walk yet again.

                        ( Death knew what he was here for, and
                                rarely is it much a surprise at that).

and so, I wasted the balm of dark tonight, never having learned to sleep.


eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEeE
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