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Knight, Death, and Devil



Knight, death, and devil,

can you hear me now,

or is my voice blended within the march?

Do the horses ride still, or have they grown weary

with no respite from addictions, no isolation available;

my God, what have I done?

This light, faceless automation, nooses, locks.

Stare longingly at her from across a crowded room, if you wish.

Something will stop you.

I dreamed of a vulture, who watched me from atop a bar,

indifferent to knight, death, and devil,

who all bore symbols of vagrancy.

Knight, death, and devil,

can you hear me now,

or is my voice much too pleased, much too quiet?