Chasing the sensation
mindlessly down a soul-slide,
tasting the residue
of tears and laughter
upon your breath--
Panting, like death
the hot exude
like witches dancing
upon the ecstatic pin-point

For which nothing else needs to begin
Nor follow, malingeringly
into what we had imagined must be
for a little longer
while these silent shadows
absorb the lies we needed
to continue to worship and adore

Those little nameless gods
of energy and emotion
wildflowers of devotions
driven recklessly mad,
maniac devils chained within
those hollow chambers
of a beating heart

Memorae; the unmade bed,
like dreams and the crumpled sheets
absorption of the fantastique
and the older dream-myths
of a child forever lost in play

Unitl the body reminds us 
of how we are made--
Ashes, dust and nicotine
soiling the world
with our own enchantments

The only remedy
for all of these imperfections
is the fiery pyre, unquieting
and yet another holocaust sacrifice
to the winnowing light
and the dwindling
of those small
and nameless gods

Released into the night winds
in long, deliberate sighs,
and a soft pardoning
of those bitter-sweet wretches
sins and scoundrels
condemned to awkward silences
and quiet stares

Toward somewhere
that never truly existed
before it become
like another ruin,
ghost towns ran off
unfinished into the middle of nowhere.

Forever haunted
by those mortal remains
of what could have been
and what must be left behind
when we fled back
to civilization.