Inside Voices

 Inside Voices

 You harlequin detectives—you with your screaming skeletons, your butchered amnesia,
           your dream-soaked crimes, your love-broken jails, your shame-battered kingdom;
 you midnight sirens—you with your hungry clatter, your weeping war, your suicidal joy,
           your innocent despair, your postcard horrors, your illuminated death;
 you supernatural children—you with your gibberish machinery, your unshaven memories,
           your alchemical bodies, your wired consciousness, your humorless insanity;
 you suicidal seraphim—come, stop your endless bawling stanzas, your obscene incantations,
           your neon shrieks, your ecstatic confessing, your hysterical odes, your staggering tears,
           come down to the tender river of oblivion, come, let us be your salvation.