god damn it,

What I hate the most

Are songs that feel like home

But take up no space.

And my bones

They have three dimensions

Still or in motion

Always tension.

But melody,

The elusive specter,

With cobweb fragility

ensnaring and entangling

Promising life

Then sucking dry,


Doesn’t give a damn.

And God damn it

There are still more ghosts

in human bodies

Spooks and haunts with corporal brains

More or less fried than mine

Who I want to disappear

who want the same for me

But we won’t go anywhere

Any of us

Or learn to live

With the super natural


Until. . .






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