Diminishing breaths fill my lungs with the taste of melting asphalt
while Blackberry clouds encase me
in the Visigoth style of a mundane world.
My growing shadow sarcastically mocks my
crude chalk outline of a shortbread figure.
The lemon-blinding skyline breaks my rambling thoughts
with a sensation of sinking ships on slandertoad slopes.
My demons inside concatenate with razor-fists.
Fingers stitch my widening wounds with shoelace strength
while I lay next to black magic priests with broken spirits.
Praying mothers stare and gather the fluorescent
fountain draining from my black artery
over the freshly painted crosswalk.