They say you walk around
As if a ghost had
Crossed your path

Or turned into a reading material
As it happens to be chosen
From the torn or taffeta

You're frozen in the
Contemplation of a win


Ok maybe that was alittle
Heavy on the word play
But as first thoughts go

They were mostly to the right
As you register an itch
Or the thing that makes you sweat

To accuse the weights
And measures of a lie