no one will notice

 



the devil pissing
on the stars

an old man wearing
the rags of dying

the matador's blade
in the bull's side

eyes of blue are
true evil

how hate comes as
easily as painting by
the numbers

that forgiveness is
as hard as iron

fire is the voice of
laughter calling to
the fallen

the expiration date on
the bread has come
and gone

sex is nothing more
than a magic trick of
evolution and alcohol

the shadow of roses
grow long over white
washed sepulchre

no one will notice

until it's too late

as an empty train
pulls out of the
station

heading
nowhere