Louis Kasatkin Biography

We sleep the sleep of forever

sleep the sleep of here and now,
...

Do maps redraw themselves after they are

rolled up and put back in the drawer?
...

The mordant day drifts along its course
into the deep deep of evening,
its hours exhausted by a futility
arduously wrought with effort, endeavour, exasperation;
...

The hours of Autumn chime
their slow lament,
dedicated to lachrymose entwined
self-pity and ennui;
...

Days are made charitable by their absence,
best off intruding someone else's eviscerated
existence rather than mine;
Time was when I felt
...