with the spin of the chill
that kindles no fire
the waxing and waning of ghosts respire
Known only and softly on the walls of wholly alone fellas and frills
the great differing tide did oyster their ills
And with pearls on their tongues clammed shut
suspended there from their own tenter’ooks
they bound themselves in nooks and books
until a great dawn may gather a look
and on inspection from the glass that stole a spy
No one could really remember why
these fellas and frills were still suspended there
yet no sleeping dogs could lie
so as testament to lifes swift flight in the eye
shallow graves were dug in their minds
for acrimony outlives its vessel sometimes.