and the wardrobe
By The CanarY
now waiting at the door to a ghost lacerated by the grey speech of terrible and great infancy we cherish the sunset falling down the horizon like a curtain call our world is indeed a stage and meaningful lines lie unused in strangled throats all around us the towering truth of days sleeping behind us under a great big beach umbrella could be the woman you loved the man you left bleeding the child you let go but the time is still waiting like a melted dali clock for the ghost to come stepping through on disjointed silence feet telling you in the whisper of your grandmother's dress that it is now Written September 22nd, 2001 © on Oct 12 2001 08:42 AM PST 18 • 0 • 13
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"now waiting at the door to a ghost..."