Thus Remains The Scene

 
Sucking words right outta me own mouth,  
you'd think the eye of me should know better.  
 
Know better just doesn't make it when poetry  
is a pretense for deeper repulsion upon the  
 
unsleeping  altar (of a) night,  awake, but so  
scantly alive, now that the hammer is down,  
 
(or, perhaps it was an axe),  & you nor I could  
bother with the splitting of hairs under  such  
 
circumstance(s).  The whole damn thing so  
remains to be seen. One after another after  
 
               another one.  
 
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa@  
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