Sunday night is the black wall of life
Dark matter camouflaged as empty night
Draped over a craggy mountain at twilight
Written as invitation to span its vacancy
Stifling ever its snicker blistering for release
Emancipating the pulse of its covetous fist on a trusting nose
For gone, now, the confidence of filched advantage.
Execrable are you.
May you be cast into the hell that clothes you,
The ridges of the harrying demon’s black armor
Your decomposing fester of buzzing, fly-beset flesh
Your song of amusement, your pitches of heaved celebration
And your jubilant ballad of achievement.
For at its floor the truth:
Sunday night, the black wall of life,
And there, the grave post on which is written:
“Here lies peace.”