Running from the future until the sole is worn
into Abyssinian empiric solitude
Where the only voice that speaks
is the hollow tone of history's fatalism
Destined for the furrowed smile
of luxury's unknown apathy
Growth hormone empath
who sleeps frozen under cosmic abandonment
A chancers change of chanson song
that sweeps the windy street
A vignette of turgid stories
that predict the rising tide of paperless bedsheets