i have not felt well for years it seems i started to see the ghosts in the trees and broken lemons on the ground at midnight the welts in psyche begin to throb and i get up to walk in our great metropolitan cemetary for the crematorium cleaners don’t show up till noon my eyes cast a glance unto the sea only to witness the horsemen looking for the premature broken seals littered there by pissed off angels with head bowed James Dean style i wonder if Eve is in heaven i see helicopters pointing spotlights on the damned while with each new grave stone painted on these walls my scars form roots and i wander less each time i see the carnage