Drivel dropped in dabbled blots of ink upon the past;
At least at last I breathed a scented smoke
Extracted from the ash.
(The waitress feigned a smile, repassed.)

Stigma drenched in sauce and thought
Preoccupied my present plots
And subtly I'm sure it sought it's infamy foremost.
In fact, I doubt my doubts against its freedom from its host.
I laughed as nihilism found its hedonistic spoke.

Simple smile or sharpened eye
Diverts among the passing time, alerts me right
To shame that's shined to glitter only in the night.
A shame when cards come up the same
If for one night a woman's home
And the next lay down alone.

Sanctity and sacrament
What in thought before in action meant
As dressing to further intent; flourish to larger ornaments
Also in plebeian banality spent --
Traded thoughtlessly as currency
Back-scratching in a newfound conformity
Once comfort's past its warranty,
Once comfort's a lament.

I'm cashing in my currency for another night well spent.
Because it's cold and she's as bored as me;
You'll see we're both anemic and in sacrifice repent.


Penned by my hand on the 14th of Ero, in the year 375 AF.