i have worn
this banded armor
shorn away
by silent toll
even now
in days diminished
erstwhile sentiments yet hold
idle hands
have stayed my purpose
vice allays
the spirit’s wake
tears erode
this pallid surface
worthless feelings
ne’er abate
dulling
from the desert sun
has robbed me
of my own perception
burning shadows
stabbed my eyes
and stole her
from the moon’s reflection
Max, or Not 