a macabre fantasy.
the night glows bright
in the burning light of lugubrious love.
haunting like a harvest moon
grimacing upon the land.
it drips and smolders in the
mathematical excrement of the heart.
smiles at the plight of some poor
poor orphan cold in a wet alley
saturated with the vile humidity
dank in the breath of a kiss.
and yet it shines tonight
and always, in its repulsive form.
not of its own accord,
no--its gaping maw is perpetually
suckling, like a greedy parasite, on
that worst of vices, human nature.