rested yet
running on empty
waiting for the moon
and feeling
second-hand
haunted, costumed,
and far from you
deadbolt demons pray
for the end of this
untouchable day
as cold souls of chemical chance
cast a capricious cadence
invoking an apparition of
contorted creativity

wet sidewalks and empty brain matter
traditions are replaced
with tired animal routines
every daydream
plants a secret
and every secret
murders another memory

reanimated with random art
and drinking wishes like wine
we are possessed by a specter
of wandering suspicions
seeded with seasonal superstition
as we collect sedated compositions
and reset these tired prohibitions

conversing with shadows
we shoot blurry negotiations
toward an indifferent sun,
undressing innocent eyes
in an abstract intermission
is it coincidence or paradise
as we protest this outdated game
passive, side by side
you, and i
on the edge of society’s dusk
awaiting the next return