Gone
I watch objects living a drained life of their own
In all the ghastly gaps you left behind
The exonerated glasses devoid of your eyes
As gatherers of dust on the forgotten table
The gulf of eerie marks on your deserted bed
Those hats I’ve seen you wearing all the time
This footprint inside that old deformed shoe
The dormant keys behind the wooden door
Untouched by the dry barbarism of time
Exhausted by actions over and over taking place
Still lives are not so still inside my mind
They just don’t know how and when to cease
Despite the spell of organic illusion
These days I don’t expect a comeback
