Home Page

SICK

(Thusday, October 31, 1996, 1:07 a.m.)

Blackened, sickly purple-grey am I

Stumbling mightily through a city of

Dusty metal, ringing, smoky grime,

Sliding over unhappy asphalt,

Violent concrete and silver cement.

I gaze up with open arms and plead for exile

To ubiquitous Night, with deafened stars.

But the shallow sun is a pale sky-speck,

Angry and reddened with billowing dirt.

Hissing humans, unearthly in their squallor:

Shouting, screaming in their rage and misery,

Anguished and unfocused, finally resigned and quiet,

Allowing souls, eyes and lips to change grey.

They are unforgiven for their crimes.