Ghost of Limbs

Like streetlights past midnight

Blinking

Nowhere

Just go softly

Just move slowly


There's no one else around, but you never really know 

What bumps in the night


They say there's a place for old longings when the strings are cut

By outside forces beyond a dreamer's consent


They tumble back like small parading parasites


Gelatinous thoughts that have no foot of bearings, no point to anchor, but low


the thought still sits

like the lifeless still living


Like the heart presumed gone, but the source is still beating


On and off


Little blinking lights


On and off


Ghost in/of the dusken night hour

Falls through sleeping trees in the green and black hush of the lion's sight


where the fox and crow are dead

and there are only lions


I will tuck under the curtain now, and find a new place

where there are no rules left to asphyxiate

For they were testiments to a lack of reaching

What the Ghost of Limbs has left to fate




There is no fate



Mangled hands on a reckloose clock

Faded back

The light in ribboned slices, loosely haired through ancient specs of feathered bright


Far from the curtain now

Far from all things

Just all

Just the willing


The morning stretched aligns