The Naked Rift / by The Black Lex Luthor

A cold implosion of a heart's wounded beat
bears down on his world spinning the anger like a toy top,
a spiral carrying tears,
throwing them through the air as rain.

Working the sides of his soul, searching the edges
for a secret opening, a hiding place to escape
were his rage is less and his mind sharp
there wouldn't be any reason to reach the black.

He thinks they are laughing, and probably so
staring and shuffling like stewards, coarse
glares that rub off the skin
Creating a naked rift between he and the means.

Have you ever seen a man run from that which he chases,
a route to impatience, a path of mazes too long for all?
Worrying a little, but all never known
A skillfull whelp wanting well to be grown.