Thursday, January 1, 2015


If a ghost is uncertainly glimpsed, thin mist,
Then in the thickest fog, everything's a ghost.

Ghost cars.
Ghost cows.
Ghost farms.
Ghost sheep.
Ghost towns, ghost barns, ghost trees,
Ghost house, ghost park, ghost street.
Ghostly old folk.
Ghosts of the American dream.

Ghost dreams
And ghost thoughts
Flood my mind,
In a fog of nebulous mist,
All ill-conceived.

Ghosts in the machine
That is this world:
Hungry ghosts,
Grudging ghosts,
Fading ghosts unseen.
As time wears on,
Forgotten ghosts
not yet passed on;
Ghosts themselves deceased.

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