Lorn Implications

© 2003 Matt Stansberry
All rights reserved.

Did you hear the collective sigh
of the phantom departed
burying their shrouded faces in spectral hands?

I howl out to purgatory
to limbo or AM radio,
but nobody's listening, nobody's there.

I find half-buried crystals
drippings from candles
Hopewell mounds
on the shores of Lake Pippen.

It's like conjuring cats,
or my bastard brother
that I believe in, but can't prove they exist.

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