The ladder is the ladder of impossibility
Where written word once set
Where written word once quenched my unquenchable thirst...
All is empty
All is cold
Growing older, I sit here not doing anything.
Feeling my bones grow in the cold of this winter.
As I slowly lose my mind into the starry sky.
Orion held my hand one night as I wept.
Lead me to the garden, and we have a dance.
A dance to the song of the moonbeam
A song to the dance of the moonchild
The kiosk stood amid the yard
Painted white and stone filled jars
Shattered like glass across the blanket of night
Feeling the light, I drifted into Orion's arms
My tears bled his eyelids
For it could not be...
A night as cold and dark as this
The devil's bite and angel's kiss
Death taking him back into the sky
Where elbows curve and memories cry
The rock upon the jagged shore
Gutted boats through bard and gore
I met a stranger on a bus
I watched him silently as he ate his cheeseburger.
I made small talk with him about the weather.
He told me it was too warm for his taste, and I laughed.
What would you have me do?
Cry?
Slowly torn a rhythm from the rhyme
As I gape throughout the time
Out the window of the bus
Out into the mist and must.
The shining cobwebs sing their song:

"The Flies have gone, the Flies have gone!"

Wishing for flies, I told them not to,
I told the spiders not to begin their feast.
Their feast on the flesh of the living.
Buildings lie vacant
Seas lie lifeless
The spiders ate everything
And all was lost

Then I woke up.
I poured my coffee
And took a shower
And brushed my teeth
Until the hour I would sleep
Again I would return to my slumber