Empty lines dream
scheming for a different scene
leaping into foreign themes
lackluster and honest
I have to confess
that along the ride of this mess
I dropped off my dignity
at the exit ramp of distress
fleeing, digging deep into the grain of dirt
Sifting through the leftovers
sitting on someone's fantasy
losing self on the locomotive shore
staring, gaping, gawking
crying
emptiness fulfills my daily whims
like moths through my sweater
the horizon burns
directions revolve around my head
speeding, drifting, finding no one left
beating down this slope
haunting,
hunted without
- gypsy george.
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