As a kid I killed 

time but its ghost has come back

to haunt and hound me

The old tug straining 

to push its load against the 

Hudson's tide prevails 

Like catching flies with

chopsticks, the pen tries to pin

down these flitting thoughts 

Sometimes synapses 

fail to fire or maybe

it's just a tied tongue 

These forgotten lines 

from an unwritten poem

haunt memory's halls 

The mournful cry of 

the lonely loon emerges 

from misty water  

No rest for dreamers 

when wraiths whisper in the dark 

of what lies beneath