Seven Parts Human and Three Parts Ghoul

The old man of the mountain
Is never at a loss for words.
Who knows why? He's at a loss

For everything else. He should be
Ashamed, but the damned fool
Doesn't know the meaning of cliche

And doesn't give a fig for proverbs
Old as his mountain, nor for the latest,
Faddish hipster slang. He just talks.

He just talks and talks and never
Tells a story that isn't more like
A riddle that rounds the mountain

Like a tar ribbon of road, an iron
Ribbon of abandoned rail track,
Into tunnels, never to be seen again.

I have to admit, some mornings,
When the world sleeps, I hike
Up the slope just to listen to him

Finding him among tilted, fallen gravestones,
Mumbling, contented, in a fog,
The mists of dead souls still clinging to him.