the dead float through my dreams,
down windy streets of cracked pavement,
heads hung low, occasional stares
from empty, midnight eyes,

frayed fringes of shadowy robes
gently glide over discarded ambitions
and piles of long-since burnt-out
stardust, pasty and charcoal cosmic
chimney-soot,

they know what I know,
that nothing lives here anymore,
and this is their domain,
they breathe in precious hope
and exhale thick clouds of despair,

they suffocate all vibrancy,
smother happiness, and scorch
even the smallest sparks of life,
leaving a thick glaze of filthy,
ashen misery in their wake.
-CV

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