A hoax frolics the hollow chest now,
Where idle arteries are arms churning monsters
-Frantic to catch the merciless Ghost that gimmicks them into a tangle
Unfree.
Rinsed bloodless in a laughing satire the Ghost fails to mimick the humdrum of the absent tenant.
It jolleys about the soft parts, percussions the sternum into a racket...the clatter is a mockery to the song of my ease.
I am diseased with stillness.
Vessels turned tunnels reeking inertia
Clots muddying the barefooted Sanity
-Now lost.
Who will find it?
Who will send out the brigade?
Who will trigger the burning that will save our soul?
The Beast saunters on, to nothingness,
looting faith from my marrow.
My worship is hesitant,
The prayer mats wing Alladin now,
The temple a parody of Pisa now,
And there will be no hovering.
