The flea flickers hum—a cursed play
Their cleats carve names in rotten soil
A whistle shrieks through hollow graves
Where echoes weave what time enslaves
As shadows twist in borrowed clay
The field exhales—the crowd betrays
The playbook bleeds in rust and rain
Turns ghostly under dusk’s pale brush
Each page a plea, each line a chain
And when the final snap decays
The quarterback, his hollow eyes
Calls signals lost to damned replies








Cleverly penned, Adagio. Dig the gridiron verbiage in this one, amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.