These calamitous moments of indecision Cling to my spine in passionate desperation; Their decaying breaths pass over my tired eyes With the ease of winter air through empty branches. I will bear my shadow until I am submerged And baptised in the sewers beneath Brooklyn's streets; Pulling myself from the dross, I will be covered With filthy soil from which new secrets will bloom. Take me from this place where machines run on the blood And discarded memories of my dead children; The radio towers will collect their screams as They cry out, "Come to me, the darkness is too much!" The tar will flow down my limbs, collecting my dreams, And depositing them in the holes in my feet; I will let it over-flow, so they may follow. I will let it over-flow, so they may taste it.
