The Last Argument.

My soul drags
through these
electric black
streets, splashed
steps scuffed up
bymy heart beats,

a dark dog matted
with lies and blood
prowls the archways
breasts dry as wicker,
cord ripped from its socket
by a back street sophist.

I was the King of Caveats
the Master of Maniacs,
the Precious Murderer
of loves existence.

Forever lost
in the last
argument,
you finally
gave the toss.

John.G.Hall©2003