It’s been so long
since I heard the words
– three of them
I’d forgotten how lyrics
spread like a virus
casual
caustic
from the tip of your tongue
– loose and determined.
From the bottom of a glass
free from reflection
plunging deep
in a frozen heart
– hope in an open grave.
In the morning
the dry cold days of winter
are scorched with echoes
fact or faux
ricochet rays
a hall of lonely mirrors
– lost on a dead end street