My candle burns at both ends,
Glows the way to stay the night,
Ask the morrow to make amends.

I know at dusk the way to send
My soul to stay to the right.
My candle burns at both ends.

In haalf my garments I do rend.
The day of rain and cunning might
Ask the morrow to make amends.

Two ladders' width doth bend
Thursdays' wreath, my soul contrite.
My candle burns at both ends.

Torn cases a man does find
A way, flimsy, flows like a kite.
Ast the morrow to make amends.

My head spinning queasily, does wend
Its slow way towards the fallen light.
My candle burns at both ends
Ask the morrow to make amends.

Owen Dunkle (c) 3-27-04
 

Static creases ramble vertically
Toward a Monday of the strange
Counterpoint of octopi
We call the fervor of torment
From the tremor blowing
Against the scant 
Winds of Lament
And the scarcity of the
Forgotten promises
We let pile up like

Old leaves blown damp
By the forgotten ruins
Of rain.

Owen Dunkle (c) 3-27-04