doppelganger

when the streets grow pale and crisp
with icy snaps of frosted moonlight
he may emerge, coloring
every chilled breath taken by
the solitary citygoer. a costumed
deja vu, he issues dim calls to
remembrance in the slinking itches
shadows plant far back in the smoke
machine of memory. a buckled succubus,
drawing drowsily on sleepy hesitation
he studs our lazy dreams with silver
foxes, moving quickly through to our
waking moments. growing stronger, he
bleeds inky halos over the slim lines
written in apathetic glee. you may
even find him over the shadow of
the pen, whispering heavy shades
tracing angry contours over the
scratching rhythm of every line.