august moon

august moon guide me
silver scalpel divide me
lie down beside me

ghost

So quiet here tonight I can scarcely feel. I lay out until the sun sleeps, watching skies turn shades amber rose and drift like vapor into deep smokey violets and velveteen folds of blue and black. The day and I disappear now, my eyes become air now, and I feel blank.

I am a ghost here. Silence covers this place in a blanket pierced only by shards through windows, pickett-covered with broken blinds... hollow tin silver light from halogen floods, built to expose thieves and tomcats. Orange tinged glare from the streetlamps of the highway, there to show you away from this place as you move along. All pierce through me as I walk in this box after sundown. Alone and silent, I study the way my feet sound, naked falling on cold tile floors. Walls are empty where photos once hung, neglected laundry folded in the basket because closets and drawers seem a waste of time. Ashtray overflowing like bones and cancer, dust on glass tables like mothwings on corpses. Thought itself seems like fog, and the only sound I hear is an electric fan, inviting more cold into this place.

Empty.

Dead.

This is no home. This is the place where the days I knew before lay dying.

Life surely awaits me elsewhere. It's time to move on.