Ferryman

The stars point my soul
toward the ground and I
got bug bites on my fingers.
The ferryman wants his
two cents and I only
got one sense and it
sure as hell ain't common.

The ferryman calls himself
Oblivion, don't call him
Death, and the journey's
taking forever, nineteen
years so far and many
more to go. The river's
bending and I have no
flexibility when it comes
to my joints, my joints
quake.

The trees around us are dead
and whisper lines in meter,
but the river isn't in meter,
it's full of mosquiteers.

The ferryman tells me to hold
my breath as we go under-
ground.