Poetry

Vast emptiness preceded him,
when he stood inside a glass on road.
Sun did not contradict him,
light had entered back in stars.
Failed fingers knocked out the magnet. There
was no reason.

Pain in neck neglected for long
now becomes time,
impatient to meet beginning of end.
Blood was spurting in vain.
A black pearl of pure love
uncenters the lazy death.

He knew the secret of pathophobia,
had known the morbidity of troubled mind.
There was no return now to new words of mourning.
Grave masks were hiding
the smiling faces of unnames.