I want to find more in my laugh
Than I’ve been taught
– No Bukowsky or Kerouac tonight,
My dreams becometh my own
My mind a white hempcloth
And one single candle
That screams out to loneliness
“Come again soon sometime.”
My holy water pleasuring
Ghosts of this symphony
Who shall sit down to dine,
Reading my scriptures
Taken from an unmarked shelf
In penmanship so crafted
To remind my found girth
I have slept here before.