These Words I Write Sock Poem by Mark Heathcote

The webs of time
Can't-span this loneliness
I feel in my heart
In this emptiness
-of my mind
Each night it grows dark.

The webs of time
Can't-cocoon this feeling
When pillow talk
Is-no-longer soothing
It's time to clear my mind
And just-start walking.

What use are velvet wings
If, like a bat, the night clings
What use is a bowl of flowers?
When it's over.

Cut my wrists
Drink till I wake up sober
Love is all about being
A tin soldier.

Oh, all those old fairy tales
Written in another epoch
These words I write sock.
Haven't longer got a heart
Haven't longer got sails
Like Anne Berlin, I-too-depart
Wounded, word silent
Behead, bleeding pageant.