every soul evaporates
our end days
are a crucible within a holocaust
a day and a night of the dead
the Day of the Dead
they paint faces on dark masks like a garish nightmare Mexique
it be a splendid swarming celebration of life in a dry land where a soul dies of thirst
a man thus expires
and a Quotidian fever
carries him off in a stream teaming with malarial parasites like a pulse falters
how many days are left ?
for us a few
for our assassin
many
Flynnpoetry 