Rawmn

I am emptiness, terror.
The tethers of imagination,
painful scrawlings on cell walls,
the feel for life imprisoned in cliche.

In the dawn light of sarcophagous towns,
I paid false angels to whip me with bicycle tires.
From the genuflecting heaps
of their dying, participatory victims
came no word of how to avoid
being futuristically broken
and presently broken

so I simply left it all
drying to premature age
in its unearned spotlight
and laid up in healing, hurting salts
for in my short life
what passes for a very long time.