dead horse

sunray touches my arm  
and chrysanthemums sprout there
 
there are so many people
so many mouths like guillotines
lunettes upon necks
 
i used to like this place
now i loathe it
 
instead of eyes, i see obol
instead of voice, a symphony of strangulated throats
 
i heard the last comedian die
i saw the road blur
and the world go black