Eulogy for an Unknown Romantic

Once again, come full circle,
my life reused and used,
and to an anchor bereft of lifting chain,
I find a drowning, resonantly weeping hope,
not for the first time, fused.

Upon the surface of a satellite of venus,
exiled from places of beauty, I lament the loss
of general sensitivity, and sense.

A low, dark howl,
a clatter amid heaps of refuse
and broken neon signs.

Misused, amid these well-met speeches
of long since passed electrons,
perhaps it were better that I were no more than
wishes, one of these still upon a trade-store shelf.

But I gain nothing from my own mythology,
naught from what I might be, the only worthy
fantasies that I inspire reside within sadistic minds,
a wretched, uncouth fickleness perhaps better undefined.