I am,
merely a Were-
Wolf.
Of light on shadow
Immaterial
Inconstant
Immature.
Maybe.
Wandering the wayfare
cos waylaid
wherefore,
whereart
my wherewithal
A black&white sepia fixed,
in time. Like the hands in my pocket.
And the thoughts in my head
that smell
of madness.
Maybe I should...
Whereto?
Where-but!
Waythere
Way
Over
There.
_________
