Misty gaze, jittered breath
Sun burned skin ironed to stop the creases.
The fly never ceases to change direction
it follows mightily close.
Boxed into a shadow, one which no one else can see
How can that be?
Claim the sights as mine or ours?
Leave to follow mans created hasty pursuit
Chasing the everlasting scent of the poisoned flower.
The big man has too many sayings, creates etchings with his words
Repeatedly lost in the background of distasteful play,
All numbers numerate to a phantom deal
Answers long slipped under broken tables.
Open fields are searched like space,
Meteors fly spitting fire with gunshots
Shining towards an illusion of a finish line.
Crawl westwards some will say, crawl right, or jump and hit the explosive beckoning.