Dreams float across my blood red eyes as I awake from the Xanadu within.
I dozed off but thought I saw
a Jack-o’-lantern in the haze.
Shifting, elusive, strange empyreal light from a vanishing messenger.
Dashing down the field of fools gold,
how to guru alias with scythe in hand,
amen to the weed of rigged games.
Haunted by my own moonlight phantom,
A ghost in flight from cromlech ruins,
begging for the sumptuous fruit of guerdon or dame fortune.
Some hope.
But I can always dream.
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