The Ebony Curve

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I have tasted the wine of darkness

and unlike the shadows,

I do not like it.

The rhythm of my heartbeat

has no use for the ricocheting flavor

of ignorance and evil.

The crimson liquid in my flute

holds no place in my blood,

black and foolish as it is.

Juices of an obsidian mind frame

are tasteless, abysmally desolate

and utterly void of passion.

The ebony curve is

an enlightened path

in the midst of a moonlit arbor,

yet the moon isn’t out and

I am blind.

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Fevrier ‘06