Published in Poets Page, Kookamonga Square,

The sky was enshrouded with horror,
a lingering scent, charnel flesh, office chairs,
and tears solemnly wept in final moments
before the fall of an innocence worn
like some carbon dated standard of times bereft
.
It was an path of ardor, to the GW bridge
below it's abandoned parapets, into the city
of such tragic circumstance which,
having been too soon left to it's calloused inference,
became my guilt of pleasure-less character
I should have been there with them
.
9-11, I couldn't bear to hold you at bay
in my fetal womb of Woodstock,
and so, the path was shown clearly away
down the high road through New Jersey
and again into the city of love and loathing
.
Where was the light fantastic?
I walked with a heavy heart, missing the sheen
of that sleepless city, while wondering
what manner of being I could become
searching for the land's salvation