can’t even
identify
sometimes the
phantom
moves fast
where did he go
off with his
horns
wailing from
miles away
two o’clock
higher
and downhill by
seven
everyone has
changed
no one spends
the time
will tell he or
the phantom
telling too
many stories
all inclusive
once
this
masterpiece incomplete
inch by inch
and book by book
too many words
or else stuck in
the head
he thinks as
the phantom reappears
new tales and
winding trails
darkness of e.b.
roads at one a.m.
phantom
daylight
sitting and
empties his head
down to it’s
final cell
splitting and
recreating
what once was
only a dream…
No comments:
Post a Comment