accompanies the blissful trite –
expressionless bile –
as is presented.
Along the way
the slag of a light known as day
(though it’s furthest away
from his mind)
lazily, calling for soulless penitence
from a murkier past:
The municipal pit
where all thoughts and feelings enter
is full, brimming
with nameless creations!
No claimers and nobody looks for,
or asks for, their namers –
till they’re called from the nights.