It's the memory you let go,
Not the stimuli of the ghost,
Injecting opera into the corridor of the queens latest estate.
And so you slip on past the bazaar,
troubles d.o.a. away thus far.
"I'm not so criminal in a cathedral," you remark as the blimps fade away.
"Is this an epilogue?" doc asks
while the nurses five float past.
"We'd like to regulate, but not aggravate and bring this dance to a close."
And while you sit and think about that,
something invisible falls flat.
And we'll not know today what it had to say
but I'm sure it'll be back