dear to the dreamers
acquaintances to their
wallowing burning light
rummaging inside the pockets
sewn with the webs
of memories thought
to be dead and gone
yet time melts into
the streaming glare
of setting sun,
and these things
never truly bleed away
stuck between the
fear of heights
the bad and the ****** up
walk across the tightrope
you know you have
done it before