The Silent Monotony of Murder

To every thing I do, there seems to be
This unbidden sense of monotony...
This sameness of desire, this guilt entire,
And this winless, windless monotony...

To every step I take, there flood in wake
Vermilion rivers of myriad motley vagaries...
Scarlet all in hue, feeding on my blue
And my restless, jestless memories...

To every breath I suck, there is nothing
But the promise of the next I may inhale...
As deflating in wait, I am held in my hate
And my girthless, mirthless veil...

To every lip I slit, there smiles at me
This unwelcome sight of saturnity...
This staccato of sleep, this silence deep,
And this endless, friendless saturnity...

Storm

Might, invite:
This dome, supreme,
This black, this white:
This sky, invite!

Sight, incite:
This globe, beneath,
This blue, this green:
This earth, incite!

Fight, ignite:
This space, exact:
This glass, this gray:
This wind, ignite!