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