WHERE NO ROSES GROW
A place of bleak darkness
where doors and steps project
out into lampless streets;
a place where no roses grow
No hope is worn by naked souls
but cast on granite stones
unseen, exposed and soon
ground down to dust by churning heels.
Writhing bodies in night-sweat beds
within the interspace of hours
succumb to fettered pride
as apparitions dance in shades of grey.