Virus Interlude

"I've never seen meaning in a morning mist

Nor meditated to stillness in a northern sky

I've felt the rush of youth, the tumult of wasted time

Always the rancour and drunkenness and ineptitude of escaped years

Dice rolled from this Atlantic City hand, robbed by a midnight darkness

Penniless from what was stolen, what came easy went easily by lust in place of loneliness

I can't recall my fiance's name, nor see her face

The past is all anyone knows, but a virus clipped our memory

A park is where I live in sickness

From hand out plastic bags I eat the left overs from others

I can't call her name, any name...only a sense of an eternal garden and nothingness

Just a constant fever

A weakness from hunger

Like others who host the virus within 

In late November I lay back on winter grass

I stare straight at stars and close my eyes

No Godly vision, only a darkness foretelling a brightness 

Snow covers me, each flake melting on this fevered skin

With open eyes I firstly meditated to a Northern Sky...and saw meaning in a waiting sea."

                                                     --The Nothing Man