Blah.

The Monsoon-night pricks
With its false winds
That whistle more loudly
At nightfall.

Yes I asked it to come
With brittle rains.
And I asked you.

Steeped in a darker sigh.

When all my "Selves"
Sit together
They make unbearable noises
Before the mirror.

So I blow out the candle
I quit the night

Come to me tomorrow.
Tonight, I have waves to ride.

Shredded poems,
A stain upon the wall,
A stubborn failure
Sit together in my old closet.

Then the old book
Pickled,
Opens like a familiar road.
The Isle of Misery
Is borne.
The sovereign queen dressed in mockery,
Reigns over
The hungry Selves.


I blow out the candle.
I quit the night.

Come to me tomorrow,
Tonight, I have shadows to fight.