"Pardon me, boy, is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo?" Then long came the moon, rising, creating shadows of haunted fingers that linger, haunted by memories capturing the soul, come September, leaving a clue of dark's long black Cadillac, getting...

Life done spent getting ready to went listeningto a whisper crawl on the flesh, slamming the dooras the anvil drips, Mr. Goodbody's last drop of forgotten things, a sorrow none can't forget as "Jimmy Crack Corn"

No cold moon interred in empty cupboards buried deepwith the scent of cheap cigars lingering sweet ashesof heavy bones whispering obsidian's glass neglecting the memory of closing chapters in contradiction's experience under the influence of inclement weather and cheap...