He is a cadaver in wait.
Worthy in want.
Weighing heart and head.
Hearing rivers and rain.
Smelling petrichor and perfume from views.
Likening life to mystic vibrations.
Herding memories like cats.
Casting spells on words and women.
Severing limbs and lamentations.
Looking always to the fear.
Longing for time and machines, combined.
Sicking art on the crimes of daydreams.
Finding music in backseats of Buicks.
He is me.