This That

Late night lantern lit phantom grip on manuscripts
Scribble glyphs on panel strips vanish quick like candlesticks
Mandible clicks mechanical ticks dismantle the scripts
Cannibal wit Hannibal’s tricks intangible twists

Skip the lecture vector shift pressure flips the ledger quick
Dregs sip nectar mixed with rhetoric and metric tricks
Deadpan stand-up canned dust in the janitor’s pan
Hands clutch famine but still managed to manage a grand

Rubber band logic knots in the optics
Watching old prophets prophesize toxic
Crooked as a prism in a prison of his own head
Wrote his own obit folded in the notepad

Spill ink like blood rites floodlights on bug bites
Bum mics off bums run drums through a slug fight
Doomed to bloom where the fumes hit the tomb tight
He said he’d see the light but the moon kept the room right