crown

those who ponder and talk,

 as in lights the names of stares

are not such as ours

 

and the handle of things sticks together

inside a wish could make physical

then hand me my crown and

so this crowd of past,

those pawns could only laugh.

 

And in a dream was which it was,

 nightmares,

 they could be as the horror known

 twirls in between your knees,

 the polish worn down to bile,

 

everything will come from underneath,

the undertow will not be brown,

you hollow heads,

you millions ghosts, not you or I.