There

          on the riverfront
      at the end of my finger

                                          know that darkness
                              [coquettish laughter]

Who would find humor there?

                               [laughter unending]
      where the solemn mind will oft grovel
              and surrender
                    falling upon their own sharpness
        to let the water carry them in repose
                                  out to the ends of the earth;
                                        down to the depths of the oblivion.

                                [exaltation]

There can be no champions here,
                  no joy in the present.
There can be only reflection
                                remembrance
        the smelting of one’s mettle
                to steel itself against the coming dawn.

                                [silence]

Contentment is the cancer that killed the world
            laughing as it rages past
                    against the rocks
                                frothing at the mouth.