THE TOWER OF
THE HUNGERFORDS
We are all gone now, nothing remains
but a few bowls of Kix and a lengthy
oasis of hand-written notes. The grass
has been rolled away, and everything
else dismantled. Muscular milk-men
bear their burdens, lugging by the
gallon what was bought by the
quart. It's not Wednesday, but it's
no longer Shadow-day either.
The ghost is in the machine.
No comments:
Post a Comment