L i b e r a  M e


He did not die

and yet nothing of life remains

he shall emerge exhausted from the terrible rigours of insomnia

out of the daylight - into the night

a city of corruption

whose opulent squalor

holds within its ruins

the sickening stench of its stagnant eons

whose agents of disease

are as sacred as they are profane

livid veins of fungoid rot

devour the foundations

in this insubstantial empire of dust

where science will not suffice

sooner or later

he shall end

by coming to his knees

before the darkness

the death

and the distance