Self-serving Night-guest

Distorted ghost of poet past found me in my dreaming
Offering none of the insight my soft breath begged for
Instead he came to further rattle the walls
Shake my evening psyche and do his dance
Selfish really,
I harbored the night-crazed vagabond
Spouting his peculiarities to echo in my head
All the while wondering if somehow he knew the answer,
What next?
But his eccentricity served as wicked distraction
And he escaped behind the white shock of daylight
Bringing me back to the grease stained corduroys, right where I left them


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