There are people out there
who live on ideas
and patron saints;
some have alleys
some have holes
they break for sunrise
they work for wisdom
of sorts
Monsters of the liquor store
vikings of coffee shops
sayers of tongues
people you don't meet
people you don't greet
the ghosts
the ghosts
haunting ways of life
scaring like bedtime stories
black holes under hoods
shuffle past in the sun
unaware of the heat
unmoving but always walking
unable to speak
unable to stop their jaws
there are people out there
who have seen the other side
who know now
who understand
but its too late
and that gift will be locked
in purgatory
until the vessel fades away
cement and horns and
sirens rippling under the sun
the ghosts
the ghosts
