please help,
though the folks they don’t see what i see
because third eye is not normal.
that’s a disease, that’s a whisper,
if nothing is said, it becomes real.
how awful, what delight when all it takes
is a ghost.
some blessed imagination, some devil’s advocate
but i like to think i am in control, what does that mean
expect denial: i am GOD
such
and then it becomes obvious,
that
this is about sways, about winds, about you
what you want.
not that much,
then you quibble, rationalize, make assumptions,
narrate, hey i know that one! narrations.
i tell my side too,
and we both have teams, judges, juries we prefer to cherry pick
so we know the outcome!
what a life!
dissolved into many squabbles buried
and the surface is like glass,
smooth, skin.
i love you.
it is what you want to hear,
and anything else is just … …
tepid, lukewarm waters.
i suppose it has always been that way,
nothing to ghost about
till the stakes become high.
i dissolved, you yelled, history writes
who writes the historians … …
but we do not believe in angels and demons,
and lilith prefers to be practical.
val dissolves in laments.
as for me and you,
the ghost that befriend us: they become our reality,
a nudge, a whisper
and soon the brackish waters become tepid,
unclear as to where the line is: i am in control,
you say you are in control,
we both may not be right about control.
a ghost smiles: i could end all this,
and i followed the ghost till
the cliff came about.
wow –
you said, a knight who crumbles
from imagination.
what if,
not proven.
everything looks ideal on paper
till it isn’t when real life
crushes the straight line,
what we have been told,
what is, how things should be,
it’s quite simple really.
ghost don’t actually say boo
till you do.
boo,
and i never saw if it was me
or the ghost that actually flinched,
faded out.
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