Spectral clouds scatter ghosts of patterns, As an ink droplet into a puddle of stillness maddening, Diffusing through its infant pond, Reaching outward like her iris dilating,
Brown paper attire Wraps around my elixir as I retire From life’s determined saunter Into the arms of good company
Our toothy grins stained by have-one-mores’ Don’t go yet, they implore You’re not working tomorrow anyway
Who needs a glass when you have no class, Only memories and contemplations Shared straight from the mouth of the bottle Into the hearts of good company
I am a mountain, Yearning to soar with birds of flight, But I am twined with the earth, Whilst animals ***** empires upon my back. As a volcano lies dormant, I, too, murmur gently, Solemnly observing My frustrated and polluted vigil.
Ghost of the sky, Our shadowy stalker, Pale and weary From your lonely wander, Heaven-high tethered, Stoic and listless, Illuminate the sleepy and the sleepless.