copelandia.
Bluelighter
The guest sat awkwardly on the rocking chair
With a pipe in his mouth and book in his hands
Seemingly from distant lands
Sitting as if no one else was there
He read and puffed and puffed and read, till the night was surely dead
He squirmed and jolted in that chair, but remained as if binded there
I looked and stared but he did not care, a man of this conception must be rare
He drooled from the corner of his mouth
And flinched periodically through the night
I felt like offering him a light
When his pipe slowly lost it’s bright
He read and puffed and puffed and read, till the morning sun came up over his head
He flinched and jerked, burped and murmured, looked as though he were murdered
He read and puffed and puffed and read, how was I to know the man was dead?
With a pipe in his mouth and book in his hands
Seemingly from distant lands
Sitting as if no one else was there
He read and puffed and puffed and read, till the night was surely dead
He squirmed and jolted in that chair, but remained as if binded there
I looked and stared but he did not care, a man of this conception must be rare
He drooled from the corner of his mouth
And flinched periodically through the night
I felt like offering him a light
When his pipe slowly lost it’s bright
He read and puffed and puffed and read, till the morning sun came up over his head
He flinched and jerked, burped and murmured, looked as though he were murdered
He read and puffed and puffed and read, how was I to know the man was dead?
