Dear Stranger, – ghost #2011

Dear Stranger,

I very much enjoy a complete unknown.
To cast a net into the vast ‘everything is possible’
and come back caterwauling or else enchanted;

I swim in murky waters,
walk deer trails during new moons
when one can’t even see the smallest
fingertip at arm’s length.

You are a moon that needs a telescope,
these letters are lenses we twist
and if I see your glowing surface,
you also see the eye of my blue
peeping at you in wonder.

Who are you?
Has anyone ever asked?
What are your phases?

There’s something to a dark side never seen,
a promise of an edge once stepped over,
the moving of a hand through the surface
of still water, a darkened foot,
a detached hand.

A fish gasping in the air,
pulled from a child’s hands
and fileted by a grandmother.

What’s within is its own unknown.
The wet and dark interior
of its own infinity of stars,
electric with memory,
chance and even hope.

Hope is its own terror,
the eggs of the shark
spilling on the butcher’s block,
a leech between your toes,
a cave-in after you’ve passed
the deepest cavern
and become trapped
with dark water, lightless,
or maybe with a full moon,
a song, a soft bed
and a shoulder to rest your head on.

submit to soboghoso.

the sound of something – ghost #13

did you turn off every light in every single room of your
house? did you dust the spaces between the spaces where
the diseases tend to creep in, the same way as the anxiety.
did the anxiety leave you lonely? feeling pushed back into
the walls you tried to escape? do the walls feel like they are
listening or are the walls too dense to feel? did you think to
water the dying plants? does the refrigerator hum sound
like a purring motor or a sonic death? do you ever use your
record player or does it just spin and spin and spin while
you lie on the floor like the floorboards? are you just like
the floorboards? how heavy do the dead lightbulbs swing?
how much of a house have you become because i miss the
way you’d walk around on those legs like sweet victory. i
miss the way you breathed deep with my ear to your chest
as i played amateur doctor. on the floor beside your bed
as i leaned in to you, cherishing the sound of something
other than everything because i get so sick of everything.
so omnipresent and in need of so much attention. and it
is just so invested in its own well being that it sometimes
forgets to breathe but you breathe and i breathe or we
did but now you’re a house. you are such a house and i
am just the short storm that blew at your shingles and
they didn’t move. they didn’t move.
submit to soboghoso.

Intangible Ceiling – ghost #62

The great barrier reef has been officially pronounced dead.

The coffee at work is burnt.

There are at least three bats living in my broken fireplace.

There are ghost children in the back of throat.

They taste like the sea in the places where the sea is garbage.

The news is being spoken in braille.

Trains are falling of cliffs.

Men in hats are sneaking around strangling women.

There is a room that is nothing but mattresses and for some reason I want to lay at the floor and stare at the ceiling at the synthetic lights

pretending they are the only sky I’ve ever known.

So manageable

families of flies dancing around a false god

unaware of the tempest that is brewing through the intangible ceiling.

submit to soboghoso