Late October
The days grow short
like the librarian’s temper
lamenting overdue books
Clowns that kill
are tame for Boiler City
My memory banks
hold much worse events
Like a line from a Beach Boys song
I was drinking all night
Celebrating my second birth
The escape from the Black Magic Necromancer
Survival means endless expenses
I’m late for work
Deserted train platform
on a weekday
Fresh graffiti on a crumbling wall
words for conjuring dark phantoms
Train pulls into the station
a tin can coffin
I step into a musty car
Nearly empty
imitating an alcoholic’s pantry
An old lady is discarded on a seat
She smells dead
My fate might be similar
Management at the Cape Horn Furnace Company
dispenses harsh, archaic punishments
I pass out on a cold seat
And I pretend to dream of good things
Strong fingers abuse my shoulder
A ticket puncher looking for fees
My eyes creak open
Two diseased flowers blooming
I recognize the tall being dressed in black
Top hat like a cartoon villain
Crimson cape
His face blurry
Like all unspeakable things
A tomb opens when he speaks
You owe me much more than train fare
ANGER AT THE END OF THE WORLD 
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