The ghosts on my side
had unfinished business in this place.
A card was pulled, the clock ran out
they hid me from the usher at the gate.
The moment of parity revealed itself
clouds parting in the middle of the night.
A super moon painted upon black ink
a startling wake with three-point-oh sight.
Foolish love, blind with lust
a misanthrope born to wait
choices run out when the roof caves in
a marigold blossom in a minimal place.
Timid earnings soft and sure
Miley Cyrus and success
stomach cramps and nausea
the drifting scent of baking bread.
full bowls and empty cups
arrows shooting from a weakened bow
clocks tick off moments of wanderlust
and another pull from down below.