The orphans - poem

Intricated subordinate clauses, 
fluorescent, in my cerebral cortex.
Above my eyes is the pain of insight.
Trapped in the sunset of eternal twilight
I sell my happiness for a pound of tears.
Solitude accompanies me in all my ways
And no one tells me, "I love you".
A snake wraps around my neck
And asks me if I want to die.
I had wrapped 3,000 little orphans in cotton wool 
And sent with the stork to Toronto. 
None has survived.
I cry a pound of tears this evening,
After the thundergod accused me.

~tom