Now that creeping stillness draws in,
Closer in the breath and scent of empty,
Nox bound formulation inward slight,
Said the ghost of a haunted embankment,
Relate and cast upon the page what stirs,
Whisks the innards like bleating goats,
On distant hillsides across the city bridge,
Loving little shepherds dote with petrol,
Engines and chemical dips if only that,
Grasping fancy from the morning should,
Be true in the approaching dinner time,
The hour be ours apart from when sleep,
Takes the soul on its imaginary journey,
Perhaps a replica of death and rest,
In a half alive state of knowing of life,
Yet free in the confidential realm so,
Unduly mapped by self confidence and,
Relics of a sense of establishment,
Just places with unjust visitors dial,
The cords of the spirit in any river.
Closer in the breath and scent of empty,
Nox bound formulation inward slight,
Said the ghost of a haunted embankment,
Relate and cast upon the page what stirs,
Whisks the innards like bleating goats,
On distant hillsides across the city bridge,
Loving little shepherds dote with petrol,
Engines and chemical dips if only that,
Grasping fancy from the morning should,
Be true in the approaching dinner time,
The hour be ours apart from when sleep,
Takes the soul on its imaginary journey,
Perhaps a replica of death and rest,
In a half alive state of knowing of life,
Yet free in the confidential realm so,
Unduly mapped by self confidence and,
Relics of a sense of establishment,
Just places with unjust visitors dial,
The cords of the spirit in any river.
