lonely guitar strings in the twilight
as the traveller shadowed
by the bloody light of sun and stars
pauses by the stark roadside
fedora cocked, dark coat concealing
in the dusty old brick rusting metal
evening

i hear the angel voices calling
he raises his head, removes his hat,
empty eyes beckoning
his hands, his lips, his scent,
intoxicating

and i slide, i fall headlong
into that warm, sweet, empty
nothingness that envelopes me
like the comforting darkness of the womb
and the placental, primordial pulsing
of nature unleashed.