the view from the arc

when the presence has eroded,
the feeling corroded,
its time to move on
into the black.
where future is another barren day.
and the night opens up
in a spectacle of fantasies.
that wear out with
the fire dawn hangover.
this morbid dance
of vacant floors
has no encore
but an abrupt end in
the decay of flesh.
you don’t have to seek this cycle
it does not lurk,
it starts today or
may be it fooled us from birth.