Charles Foster Kane

Kane,you great truncate,when your snow globe rolled and brokethe claws ascended through the bedand dragged you down to deepswhere rosebud never rosesand blood remains on the thorn.

To self and Self forever prone,hallowed, hollow,loved, alone.

You buffed the veneer until it was gone, andtrapped by that yowling thing at your feet,you were numb (or numbed)to the echoes of echoesof prehistoric echoes,the tap, tap, tap,of the persistent maybe.

Love expecting, required, rejecting,never known or ever offered,always taken, never proffered.

You, starving distended soul,indulged resonant delightignoring the siren scream ofessence never lost andnever found. You wondered:Is that the windapproaching through the trees?

It came.Dark as night and heavy as light,with Forever in its fist—it came.