ghost of you

is it
the ghost
of you

the absent form
that you existed
as
in the past

is it that ghost
that I
adore

you're not the you
that I used
to know

druken souls

intoxicated souls

sit at the bar
sit at the round tables

like cockroaches in high chairs
with pathetic
filthy cigarettes
that dangle
from their
lips

nonsense murmured
fronted knowledge of anothers interest
bulletproof egos
mindless speech
all
for the dawn's
soundless
void-hearted
foul
--fuck

this age, framed

sit at a shore, illuminated.

the sun's grin like your misery

lines of those memories in the sand,
on your skin

reflections in the water, altered by some foreign hand

face blurred
you don't recognize
this horror

since you've never faced it before
it scares you even more

chords of some distant ancient
piano playing songs

a framed photograph
washes to your feet

one of a new born in a crib
looks oddly like you

thoughts with the photograph in hand: this age has progressed
no longer do we lie in our cribs for the sake of rest

we've dug these graves
to wake and see the face of man telling,
thee

it's all grand
it's all figured out
there's nothing
to doubt
but those in which go against
all that's man

it's all so real
the static tells
you

don't you see
you've just got to believe
in the static
creating images

you hold the framed picture
of the newborn
and
exist
at the
illuminated
shore
without
a word

the photograph becomes
the moment
of you
waiting for
nothing

chords of ink

me: stuck on that which is not here
(stuck on that which engraved it’s initials on this internal tree)

i, a single insignificant cell
--no different than the others

dwell on occurrences that only
exist within

no memory
no past
with a grasp

change this day
with a thought
of
wonder
like a ballroom waltz
to the chords
bleeding the ink
--of god

my mornings

stars on your
hands

you’re a constellation

in the dark
in the night

in my mornings
--you’re still the warm aura of night

be hush, be here

be hush

be here

as we decline
into the night

daylight
disappears
all soaked up
in sheets

(i think)
the sun has expired

pale-like:
a snow-white sparrow’s wing

(i am)

out in the void
night sky

“drift”
,says
the moon
dressed warmly
in clouds

sigh
i imply
quiet

“we point so easily
when we’re not

the night’s
, limp-winged
&
frail”

be hush

be here

erase

If I could
erase a memory
or
a reoccurring
silhouette of the past
it would be
of
you
&
the dull gloom
light (you)

that stays
lit in your
chest

YOU: Your ghost in the mirror, outlining my reflection.

It just wont vanish.
It will never disappear.