I am a ghost.
Or was I? I believe I am standing in the rain, buckets pouring down on me I am
Slippery in slippers. Why am I wearing
Long loose clothing, layered chiffon blowing in the breeze high upon the roof of
Deep cold metal framework? I feel
Hot ash laying in the sun. My bones ache ooooh how
blistered and blushed up brushes forward
My hair. Black. Over my face. It is so dark so dark so I can’t see why can’t I
am a ghost.
Saw it! I glimpsed the pale horse, steam from his nostrils he lifted me
Up on high mountain
top of the windy cliff. The sea smashes
my ahhh I can fly now!
NO! I stand in my mother’s living room but wait, this is from before
She cries why? I can see her through
shades of gray silk I cross my arms angrily growling I am
But wait! There! Right there a scrap of paper with my name! Surely if
My name remains I must be
Alive. It is there written in stone. In the pale moonlight
in a cemetery.
I walk, the cold sleet slashing my skin and
I don’t breathe
in the air of the night brisk chill diamond cut
out of the darkness I see light I see light
I am alive. I am a