The Words, as Soft as Broken Skyline Teeth

The words, as soft as broken skyline teeth,
Their blood red dawn, a night of lighter hues:
A gutter piss reflecting dark beneath
The streetlight sheen of sanguine sun’s confuse.

Consider, if you will, the bitter rite
That cuts with haggard steel the heart’s expose,
Retreats in dripping steps from hungry sight
And leaves with starving want the night’s repose.

How blindly fought, the poet’s crave of dawn,
“If only Day will blind the Night and bring
To end this ravings’ peace, this rantings’ spawn!”
But clearer light shows clearer demons’ cling.

Both Day and Night in whispers, just the same,
When shredded soul of “poet words” lay claim.