The hour of midnight of tomorrow dark
A vision like a stark
Fog thickened like solid mug
A Greyhound Bus Terminal ghostly in spiritual nature
Yet adding to the mystery appeared a Greyhound Bus
Driver and passengers were in nothing more than past spirits
They had often travelled this road many times
Flesh wasn’t there mark
It was a Greyhound Bus that just decided to park
The characteristics of the Greyhound Bus was the blinking lights
It became a circumstance contributing fright
But it will be a thriller starting tonight
The Stretched out Greyhound dog trademark with Evil on its mind
Car and Truck Drivers witnessed the disturbed revengeful Greyhound Bus on the highway
It was the look being the last highway to hell
The Blood was flesh thrown off the highway by the Greyhound bus
Most of the flesh had previously died
The spirits were on a rampage at Greyhound
Bus Dispatchers were announcing agendas and not schedules
The roll call being an assignment to destroy
There was no more happy in joy
The night was had a evil twist being fierce
The Greyhound Bus stretched had Dracula teeth and eyes being Red
A thirst to fulfill but with acceleration at will
There’s no time to be still
There was definitely evil powers having everyone being hypnotized
But it was the obsession of the Greyhound Bus under control
The number of the Greyhound Bus 1811
Years ago something on that one
The bus got into a terrible accident
Everyone died but Souls would return with a rage against the living flesh
Midnight will soon strike
Souls who died on that Greyhound bus 1811 will arise and walk the streets in rage
Midnight has struck and it’s too late
It was written on that very date
A hound bus will be bound and there will be no one sound
The town of Jeffersonville know all too well about the Greyhound bus curse
No time for any written verse
Souls have risen
Greyhound bus spiritual revenge having no wait
Again, it was anticipated
A night that would come
Don’t travel on Greyhound bus 1811 restored
There might be an evil plan having an accord.

The dissonance in the air
visiting flashes sonically weaving trembling tales
of flash floods and brushfires. intertwined between and beneath
leathery scales, dorsal fins and rat tails.
Intimate whispered coded messages
massaging ear drum lines menacingly, scratching the passages, cruising through each hall.
tapping at every door.

With a gravely groan, reciting a indecipherable buddhist koan.
Laugh as you may
The moon will leave
Without a notice
We'll be without
Another day.

The dissonance in the air
leaving car crashes and birthday bashes in shambled states of stasis
smiling bits of shrapnel suspended in howling fits of laughter
smoldering hordes of children melting under summer suns
all while a paramedic belts out birthday songs
and a clown juggles displaced screws and cogs.
Disasters and dances have more in common than
dispatchers and discjockeys.

What kind of warning signs were you expecting?
     Would she pour her mistakes
         into a crystal dish
            and set them before you?
Would she hang makeup stained
    pillow cases out of her window
        each morning?
Would she break skin
     below the hem lines
        with the hope
            that you would notice?
We don't often get
    the warning signs
       that our eyes are trained to see.
We don't get warning signs at all.
     we get wake up calls
we get fists full of cold pills
seen from under the bathroom stall.
We get to make phone calls
with seconds to spare.
We get to shake so violently
that our hands forget they are hands.
We get to answer seemingly
unimportant questions
to dispatchers who hear this
       all the time.
We get to wonder
if survival instincts are real.

We get to wonder
why anyone  anywhere
would ever name their daughter
                 Rosemary.