your words leave the taste
of vomit and stale beer
and my past follows me
like faeries and demons and children
that ask me the same questions
over and over
even as I glimpse one
out of the corner of my eye
to see it wears a familiar face
before it hides again from memory
they ask me questions
that you once had an answer to
but are now as unknowable
as the 24 mysteries
do you see them behind me
floating like the spirits
of a thousand dying angels
wearing masks of burning ash
and singing in the voices of the damned
if not, just look again tomorrow
for darker nights bring weary churchyards
and you return with vinegar tears
and breath that reeks
of two-days-ago vodka
and accompanied by wicked sprites
because they've found a kindred soul
but eventually join the growing ranks
of my malicious dreams
which, instead of being banished
with the return of the rising sun,
only grow stronger

11/03/2001

Posted on 11/03/2001
Copyright © 2025 Gary Hoffmann