Monday, March 2, 2015

Ghost Margin

In the margin of things
The ghost of his soul
Spirit hardly exists hangs
Around not wanting to leave
These serial hard to
Lose attachments in
The myriad wings mobility
Sings raven hadn’t spread
Nor having seen neither
Joy impression hadn’t
Returned neither grappling
Incessant for we are but
Of yesterday dipped into
Flesh and striven bone our
Days upon earth are
A shadow reserved
And tantrum mantram
Hadn’t seen nor withdrawn
Them villainous sensations
Of today’s tomorrow
Voyage ghost margin deacon
Trenched through the thin
Attachment harbinger of
Things fastened laughed
Nor jostled hadn’t let go of
Holding on to things he
Comes back again to
Haunt them.

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