305 BROOKHAVEN APT 5

In the hallway of legends and ghosts I wander aimlessly in dream Talking with the dead of Brookhaven The rope burns are still fresh on Helen's neck A sickly scarlet mark upon her throat In this corridor, I pace, a key in hand; lost Forever the sojourn of quietus in keeping Before a door numbered two, I stand Silence a silver web with the muted sobs of angels It is not a key I hold when she at last comes upon me It is only the dark tangent of lost souls and vipers And a blind man staggering upon a battlefield as Cannons roar and the blue turban leers The rains come like Jacob Marley's ghost Riding the coach forever