For the one time I have ever seen the red haze of hatred,
the rosy blossoms of love, the crimson mist of sorrow,
descend upon my eyes, I sit here, relaxed upon my
wicker cloud, it's armrests high, I lurch upon my
parapet, the world shan't pass me by, I think as I gaze
upon my wrist, the hands of time flow sweetly in their manic circle
upon my truth I realise the creature which lies benignly in
decrescendo of happiness, for this is my own hour, in which
my Yates leans towards Bethlehem, my Raven at my chamber door
and the rose which haunts me evermore.
Upon my heart I lift a charm, the soothing life around me
so full with vigour and thirst, I crush it under a heel, like
the cigarette butt with my seal, the indents of a love.
I think I've had enough, my ardour becomes redundant, I
wish to end their bunting, through which my flames
stand hunting.