Strange Language

up on the bluffwhere I wish I wastwisting up the pages of history
my cold feet danglingmy bony arms gesturingto summon up a little chunk of that history
in the corridor the shadows are longand it messes with my equilibriumand there's strains of a strange language
up on the bluffwhere the hardwoods jutout toward the gusts of history
my crusty mind cracksmy restless heart tracksthe fractal lines of history

in the corridor the shadows are longand it messes with my equilibriumand there's strains of a strange language