Presence

I'm facing the roads that didn't take,

And the blood flows ice-cold;

The present absences,

Summon up themselves,

Just like that.

Arising - eyes stark rockets,

"Look!" they point,

Down this road,

Then this one..

So, round-around and round the spaghetti roundabout we go.

Waltzing phantoms slide,

Shuffle around,

Blend into,

And vaporise, whistling through me,

Misting away:

Mist into mist;

They will never say goodbye.