Streetlight, hung and quartered on the bedroom wall, 

Draws out a sun to my year of somnambulance. 

Four times I spoke my own destruction, foresaw

The moral to the myth and was indifferent;

Then the butchered rotation, from him, to her, to it, 

Never this, as I watch recompense fall from heaven’s

Breaks and play spectator to my own eclipse.

 

Betrayal is deep-chambered and swallows its sound,

Turns last of all to itself, weary of revelation. 

No gates to hell, no flames, no cavernous pain, 

Only the silent surrender - to watch not feel

The world dismembered, laid out cadaverous;

At its hollowed heart, two lovers in a sliding bed, 

Are a train of horses tethered by a single thread.