Written by Christopher Hales
Silent movement of lips makes you
Endless questions of fact.
Without an owner.
The boy on the stage,
The man in the lens,
Some things never change.
As the abyss closes around the star.
A backwards black hole,
Your next buck is saved in the scruff of your
Ripped black pants
For the next venture into the world
And mind of the ‘tache.
From tea to coffee,
From Baker Street to Brooklyn Bridge.