With nothing to do

I place stories to nameless faces

Trying to reconstruct false memories

I make love to islands of women

And prevent true love from penetrating

Every defense system I’ve put in place

Falling from Hudson’s cross

I count the countless

And become just another statistic

It was so transparent and evident

But you were so blind and deaf

To all the signals and calls

Today’s decree witnessed by passersby

Aloft with yearning above my own termination

Until I am adrift with my last love letter to you

We have conceded to the future’s deathly grip

Permanently free from this perverse sense of rapture

All we have become are ghosts of yesterday

© 2013 David Greg Harth

13.11.24.23:09:47@130BklynNYC