Some kind of age

Shadow found youth flickers
souls across portrait memories --
you know what I mean, stranger?
It's the inside,
underneath the monster
where all that is
is mist --
come and yawn sleepy dreamer,
catch a cold and bring a warm
heart. Stagger down
rustic halls through
silence left over from
last night's dinner,
that's when you'll see
ghosts flicking tongues and
nuns shaking fists through
frosted windows,
angry that yesterday stole
and tomorrow isn't bringing
any presents.