At the violet hour
What should I resent?
(as I) Die on empty
A feeling crept by

My sullen, sterile face
Looks thee falling
Beneath the tumbling waves
What shall I do... what shall I ever do?

Go south
Down to my words
My wounds
Would it still feed fire?

This noise -polluted amber
Stares into my gone hours,
hours that mean years
...Mean life

Are you the heartburn-bitter one?

Could you pour my wounds on to them
Could you heal this exhausted well
A kaleidoscope of clean horizons
The awful rain glommed into my fall
What shall I do, what shall I ever do?

No winter walk
No search for...
A nebular packing cloud

A lost somewhere
Implored me
“Please ... cease to exist”

Empty voices leaning
feverless as I