If I Knew

Deceptive truths, those

Which rain on us,

Purging and befouling, causing

Retreats into the alcoves

Of consciousness,

Where nothing

But ghostly caches drown

A spark. A myriad of

Familiar faces with piercing

Stares double my rhythm of

Be gone, be gone.

A question hangs in the

Acrid air, by a noose

Made from love. And thus,

I pass 

Into the void