At the violet hour What should I resent? (As I) Die on empty A feeling crept by My sullen, sterile face Looks thee falling Beneath the tumbling waves What shall I do... what shall I ever do? Go south Down to my words My wounds Would it still feed fire? This noise -polluted amber Stares into my gone hours, Hours that mean years ...Mean life Are you the heartburn-bitter one? Could you pour my wounds on to them Could you heal this exhausted well A kaleidoscope of clean horizons The awful rain glommed into my fall What shall I do, what shall I ever do? No winter walk No search for... A nebular packing cloud A lost somewhere Implored me "Please ... cease to exist" Empty voices leaning Feverless as I