David McLean - 'when you're tired of Stockholm you're tired of death'

just as autumn falls shall we go
to wherever the ghosts have gone,
nowhere.

we shall be fragments then, just as now
we cannot feel psychosis
in our fingers,

fists, and yet the moon is insane again
tonight, and hangs like a tired
climax in a torrid frozen sky,

in a life dark as the waters
nightmare under ships clutching the brutal
black Baltic, like a body they rape

again. we plow through a tired night
thought like we are tired
of life,

or frightened by time
and darkness and
light