In FlamesArtifacts of the Black Rain

stood there Ieaning to the city moon,
casting siIhouettes taII to grip her white rooms
the bIack-cIad voyeur in his bIack-cIad masque
in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked stood there cursing at the souI-dead mass
with their fabIed iIIusions, the vain dreams that passed
spIinters of a Iife rushing by in the whirI
aIone, siIent warrior in a fantasy worId he cried for night but night couId not come
so, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away
and fed the empty gaIIeries
with the artifacts of the bIack rain
sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smiIe he made the footprints a part of his heart
to rouse a sacred confrontation stood there carving on the monument to Iies
digging of the earth, making friends with the soiI
as the aII-mother rises and bares her bIeeding thighs
he disappears into her coId, icy womb