A vicious mockery of bone,

Twisting and turning in it’s malignance,
As fate itself’s scarlet twine,
Grants it’s malformed lucidity on otherwise spotless mornings;
All caustic contrived and counterproductive clarities,
Collected as cool sticks and pebbles at the wayside,
Bequeathed as inescapably as a mother’s malice.
Yet again I have drowned forsaken awareness in sweet water,
Honey and dizzying arrays of color and affection,
Treated my yearning as so much kitsch and tenpenny baubles,
And squandered so much of my ink and my blood.
Every elusive joy enjoyed,
Each delusion pinned in shadowboxes
As an ossuary to a frail and fleeting god,
All sorrows martyred and memorialized amongst my ever cheapened ribs.
 
A fool forever, 
Fettered by fevers and fiction;
A raven chaser chases ravens,
Craven and incorrigible.