Poetry

Ghosts

photo-4

Ghosts

Tonight:
Look, running towards me
comes Maddy
and all her
though I am repeating myself
nightmare hair.
But when she passes
she is Notmaddy
I am blind at a distance
but capable of great insights.
There’s something of her
unbearable
ballerina footfalls
jogging
ghosts dancing in my skull.

And there
at the bus stop
stands Mel
cold cool in the chill
in her contempt
and it is her contempt
Oh she owns contempt
Except
when I follow
with my scavenger eyes
she is Notmel
just a ghost of her figure
a shadow
of her light.

Yesterday:
(and yesterday,
and yesterday, etc
there is a poem in that, too
tomorrow perhaps)
I passed you
on the escalator
caught your eye
at your ascension
as I returned home.
A ghost glimmer of your shape
something in dilation
of your pupil
upon settling down
Or
catching up
with mine.

Tonight:
trampling my serene impunity
immovability
what have you
Skin white against the black of my sheets
feet cold in the crowd
ghosts lie in bed with me
kicking back
stealing pillows
kisses and time.
Crowding me out.
Waking me with feather fingers down my spine.
Late running pecks
on early morning’s dash’d dreams.

Oh fuck off all of you,
and let me sleep.

1 thought on “Ghosts”

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