At the violet hourWhat should I resent?(as I) Die on emptyA feeling crept byMy sullen, sterile faceLooks thee fallingBeneath the tumbling wavesWhat shall I do... what shall I ever do?Go southDown to my wordsMy woundsWould it still feed fire?This noise -polluted amberStares into my gone hours,hours that mean years...Mean lifeAre you the heartburn-bitter one?Could you pour my wounds on to themCould you heal this exhausted wellA kaleidoscope of clean horizonsThe awful rain glommed into my fallWhat shall I do, what shall I ever do?No winter walkNo search for...A nebular packing cloudA lost somewhereImplored me“Please ... cease to exist”Empty voices leaningfeverless as I
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