EXPERIMENT
I did all that your experiment asked of me :
I learned your art, I drank your wine, I textured
each of your long durations - night, day, and
whatever was in between. Each smile you sent
my way, I decorated just as you showed.
Like some eerie pumpkin's juicy mash, this
time-soaked derivative of living came my way.
I realize only now, we really should
have talked it over first.
-
That ghost from your gazebo, yes, it still
comes around seeking handouts and love;
throws its caution to the wind, prances
so like an idiot, shows itself off to
most anyone at all. My view now?
Hardly worth a bastard's effort.
-
In the last flood, all that mud washed
the evidences away - but I had
been there, hiding out, just to
see what a ghost does when
it's bored. Not much differently
than you and I do, it claims to
fall in love, seeks life, runs
crazy-rampant from edge
too edge. Then it tires,
and disappears.
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