…Reconstruct the Empire of a Young Prince who…

And all those questions are tumbling like weeds and melons in the fields of a former Southern plantation.

The soundtrack from an era that should be claimed by critics as Nostalgic

inspires an emptiness now

An inspiration that is like a deer carcass on one of those 3 am curving roads of yours.

Trading out the Breath of Lovers for the Salt of Sinners.

And you hope to occupy this vacant apartment and build in it a set of memories for new seasons in this era of Restoration

But the house is still haunted

The floor boards stagger,

A whisper hushes through the refrigerator,

Summer’s chill lands in the coffee pot

All Horror is Site Specific

In the thicket you lose track of each other.

Mistakes stacked in a pyre ask for more lighter fluid

Freckles become interchangeable for stars.

Soundtracks in vinyl are tossed across the park like frisbees.

You take the pills labeled DOUBT and CLICHÉ and swallow them before she catches sight of you.


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