i sit alone
bathed in the
soft glow of
the monochromatic
prism cast down
in the nimbus
of the sorrowful moon

i am a bundle
of broken sticks
wrapped in
frayed twine
leaving a trail
of discarded bark
scattered behind me
no one cares
to follow

i am a skintag
on the wrinkled
brow of beauty
a sty in the eye
of divine creation
the palsied shake
sending a spray
of indica ink
across the vellum
where dreams linger
in a foggy delusion
of lunar listlessness