Screaming Down the Years

Friend caution in recklessness cast at mercy of four elemental winds; marooned to rest abandoned in eerie thrall of empty deserts. Tanned into wisps of burning paper, dust-blown ghosts dissolving, coughing up a storm. In truth I shot the albatross, hangs now her windchime bones about my craning neck; brittle, white-bleached they click and whisper, canned laughter hollowly fades into musical discord. No blueprint, chart or compass to autopilot navigation of love's most ragged peninsula; naturally I ran aground, dry-docked, adrift and treading dirt, classic lifeline weaving deft 'neath Damocles hanging sword. All my demons are high precision engines geared with rapier cruelty; and all the while throughout tears and smile, drive me softly screaming down the years...