jaded, mayhaps
but the sadist, i know
by the drear of spent days
in this sentence
of dreadful displeasure
and tenuous tether
to that which was wrought
by my penance
to what vile avail
did this frail heart relinquish
to perish, impostor alone
the solitude gloaming
bequest of conclude
viewed through mirrors
of a prelude moon shone
whose riddance is cast
‘long the tides of the past
rigid shores deftly shorn by shed selves
with the dawn wind, arise
amid rows of wreathed eyes
reap the seeds sown
by this wretched shell
to wither in writhing
‘mid throes of spent worth
the worst is…
alas, ask us, Edgar…
for so cruel is the crux
of a bedward soul vexed
since the hour
heaven’s coil did beset earth
Max, or Not 