Rancor’s Spectral Tune
Propagate, procrastinate, appropriate, me.
For I am so… easily misled.
To the voices in my head.
Mine is a town of vast wonder.
But the needle and the spoon plunder.
The incarceration has begun for some.
And, so with the moment of morn’s blue sky…
It has begun.
I lack in luster what others call muster.
Only an ambiguous soul.
Life has taken its toll.
Yet, I will sit and wait over fields of green.
Holding fast to all the beauty I have seen.
Hand me your rake and I will deserve.
All that inebriates have heard.
Beyond the bottle, the needle, the spoon.
An artificial high on top of rancor’s spectral tune.