My room was dark and cleared
and piercingly austere,
as I drowned myself in beer
and bopped for cigarette butts.
You came and brought a stand,
in ravenous, ravaged land,
refracted light in bands, with your
fiddled, faithful struts.
Asked myself a question,
every time I looked in water,
but found the answer mute,
so silent until now.
From suicide to a bastion,
a pestle fills the mortar,
crushed a brute inside my mind,
but I knew not, know not how.
We may not dance with horses,
I see a brighter kind of light,
a book (worn with time) to fill,
that uncouth mind of mine,
I had closed the doors,
I knew not what to write,
thank you, oh so much,
for writting the first line.