Maybe you do,
But you might be surprised
What I know about you.
Rain and pain
And poems of gloom?
Sure...
They’re the tip
Of the midden
You’ve got to exhume.
Come into my parlour
In true glastnos
Spend the evening
With me and my ghosts,
Want to know
What’s below the stair?
My muses are willing—
It’ll curl your hair.
Now, enough about me—
What about you?
Do you probe writers
For your literary review?
Dissect and anatomize
All of their angst?
Well, parsed by my spirits
You’ll soon be outflanked.
They'll find you catatonic
On an all night train
Staring vacantly
Out at the rain,
No one will hear
From you again,
A fitting end for one
Who plays your game.