They say you walk around

As if a ghost had

Crossed your path

Or turned into a reading material

As it happens to be chosen

From the torn or taffeta

You're frozen in the

Contemplation of a win

Ok maybe that was alittle

Heavy on the word play

But as first thoughts go

They were mostly to the right

As you register an itch

Or the thing that makes you sweat

To accuse the weights

And measures of a lie