Musings in a Bottle

Who knocks at the ghostly hour

-branches dance in the tides of wind

a spark in the black sets my blood afoot

behind my eyelids

-clomping boots on hardwood floors

beat beat shudder beat

shivering, the memory echoes something once familiar

– now strange ethos rising with flesh

I am myself and what was.

I fear death. I fear loneliness. She fears the past and the future.

Dismembered, but recognizable

-hear her. Know her.

Mind within halls that maze from her hands

always to feel, always just beyond; empty.

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