He walked and walked in the rain that turned half into snow and he was drenched and frozen; and walked upon a park that seemed like the very pasture in Hell where there were couples whispering in the shadows from the twilight, all in some plot to warm the Earth tonight, and he went into a public place and saw annunciations drawn and written on the walls. Goddammit, I missed her so much. He came out and felt alone and lost in the world with no home go to home to and felt robbed everything he never had but dreamt of and hoped to have; and mocked by others' midnight victories and his own eternal failure with her, un-named by nameless agony and stripped of all his history, he was betrayed again.
Yet on the walls of his brain, frescoes: the kneeling Angel holding a wand of vineleaves, announcing that she would come for him; the agony in the garden; two naked lovers turned out; and over the dome of his brain Creations and Damnations, Judgments, Hells and Paradises (We are carriers of lives-- who knows the unseen frescoes on the private walls of our skulls?).
Then he was standing against the wet, cold wall of this building in the park and he slid down against the wet wall, wanting to die, squatting there in the dark. Faces glided past him up above him under the rainstreaked moon of a streetlight like prows of safe ships with somewhere to go-- the rain on some was beautiful-- and all around him they were meeting in the park and walking away under the dripping trees, figures were walking up and down upon sodden leaves, and in his spell he thought, they are all passing me by, and I sink down, way below the faces, the prows of ships.
Yet on the walls of his brain, frescoes: the kneeling Angel holding a wand of vineleaves, announcing that she would come for him; the agony in the garden; two naked lovers turned out; and over the dome of his brain Creations and Damnations, Judgments, Hells and Paradises (We are carriers of lives-- who knows the unseen frescoes on the private walls of our skulls?).
Then he was standing against the wet, cold wall of this building in the park and he slid down against the wet wall, wanting to die, squatting there in the dark. Faces glided past him up above him under the rainstreaked moon of a streetlight like prows of safe ships with somewhere to go-- the rain on some was beautiful-- and all around him they were meeting in the park and walking away under the dripping trees, figures were walking up and down upon sodden leaves, and in his spell he thought, they are all passing me by, and I sink down, way below the faces, the prows of ships.
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