A purple dawn
Feathered with escaped night chills
Wreathed in the spent smoke
Of some genarian's vice
A spent casing
Its word spoken
A small clink after the blast
Glittering anticlimactical epilogue
Some part of life
Had kicked his eyes from his path
There is no light for them here
Only peristaltic lumps of floating sewer
Who knows what he could have been?
Now?
He feeds demons and earthworms
Wriggling in their dens
Fat with glee and sins