do you come to dwell
under six feet of plundered space
where the moon just shun
and the sun has won the race
folders of thoughts are stacked to the waste
the pen of rust it tastes
for the writing on the wall to pace
like swirling bullet holes looming across my face
I can't speak of this place
I can't speak of this maze
for by the time I've been there
I'm even amazed
are you slightly fazed?
when an elevator changes the case
mysterious eyes ask the ones of craze
"how do you function_when the past you bathe?"
when the dash IS the haze


                                                          ­                                 ------ravenfeels