The mute history of catharsis

A catacomb like bar
Outside

     a man derived
   from many burdens,
applied to counting deficits
     in unfamiliar lives,
  marks men on their necks
   as They drop out
 bowing to the displeasure
    of light,
 the glowing bosoms
  of women of their histories
 the streak of dawn
    their inevitable rescues
 penultimate to their fall,their leaps
 honest confessions
        the nods of heaven
  the untitled, the unnamed
      all stones they bled upon
    

     a fissure between
 their memories,promising
       and waiting for them to fall back in,
      again