bright bayou

I have drunk the water of the mirage
that lay upon the surface of the stale black waters.
in my thirst, it seemed sweet.
it was cursed, and I was beat down by my best intentions,
stitched lips that have forgotten all the mentions
of sustenance in promises promised in fading light,
in luxuriant night, and all the spiteful furies
of a thousand juries of the ignorant and the damned.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
If you understand this poem, then you are me.