In the Storm of Life

                             i.

Across the trackless
waste, blindest ruin
wearing the shape of
vandals makes no haste
hesitate laying
waste to this disgraced
place where my outlawed
magic indicates
its fear by the state—

                             ii.

With the aching thrill
of superstitious
terror magistrates
pontificate for
days, debate my fate,
placate my faith’s doubt
placing in the space
anticipating
sacrifice, my soul—

                             iii.

Nomad from the north,
nowhere is my home,
hyperborean
to the core, bottom
hits hard, ignores hurt
hearts whose bruises burn
echoes to surface
unheard, scorching earth
I double across—

                             iv.

Mirror of a man
nearer below than
anywhere above,
my reflection walks
ashen corridors
no chronicler can
mention, not because
of loss, but since what
I claim never was!