the Mothman Cometh in dead of night
who knows his pain
who knows his plight
left unchecked in their faulty haste
born in pools of chemicals and waste
a slip of nature
he roams the skies
with wings of a condor
and red blazing eyes

it is said he had vanished
when the bridge came down
but I believe he remains
at the outskirts of town
I have been to Point Pleasant
and his presence I feel
on the river
on the streets
in the steps of John Keel

the dots are slowly disconnecting
I can see it coming now
the register jams more often
did I do that
and why...or how?
'yes, you told me that
remember...?
but it's okay
everything is fine'
the signs are now clear
this creeping fear
the foggy mist of my decline

the familiar sound
of the 2 o'clock train
snaps me out of my hazy state
I move to the porch
and view the mountains
listening to nature
I wait

the new Sun is crisp
and it's warmth dries the night
the first cup of coffee
with the first sign of light

I search for the shirt
that I'll wear on this day
and my best fitting jeans
then to Father I'll pray

the walk isn't far
half mile...a bit more
odd smile from Ms Harris
as she opens her door

the wildlife remain calm
as I take up a seat
pulled out a Lucky
and inhaled it deep

the dots reconnect
head bowed
on my knees
2 o'clock comes and goes
like a chirp in the breeze

loan me a dime
said the poet to the rhyme
dropped like dice
from vanilla ice
the Gods of poetry
spittin words like flem
cause they notice
when you notice them
up in here up in here
shout it like you got no fear
turn that smokin' room around
light her up and buy a round
lines that bring em to their knees
ask Edgar, William
even Socrates
this one is yours
number one on the chart
like a rhyme on a dime
to the beat of her heart

where the hell am I
I don't recognize this place
we are led like cows to slaughter
blind to this disgrace
we take their poisons with a grin
while they get filthy rich
they play us like a lab of rats
then kick us to the ditch
our taxes buy their mansions
the market is their bank
they wallow in their sick perversions
their eyes are dark and blank
this is the final scene
where we proceed or wave the towels
do we let these ******* get away
or feed them to the cows

the saddest part of dying
is what you forgot to do
the ideas born in lucid dreams
that vanished in the hue
the mountains never seen
the oceans never crossed
the poems written on scraps of paper
a lover's smile now lost
the tears you held inside
the chances never taken
the landscape of your life
an oasis now forsaken

I searched the face of the hollow man
as I drove the dagger through his empty heart
drained by love given
but not replaced
he cried to me
conceiving his defeat
to shield his soul from the pangs of living
the blood of fleeing life
and the tears of anguish
fell in drops
to the time-worn floor of the dismal room

a light breeze eased the curtain aside
a blinking hotel sign
revealed a dead man
lying beneath a mirror
smeared with blood
dried to the image of a stretched palm
many hours later