Most people don't realize that ghosts can't be seen
They really aren't a specter a being, or the voice to a feeling;
Not the voice, but the feeling itself.

And these ghosts do haunt:
They come out in the words of the legend,
In the ink of iconography of the spirit,

And the etching of the acid soaked lithograph.
Sometimes they come as the rattling of a chain
Unlocking the gate to an old mansion,
Or under sheets with eye-hole stains
That cover furniture once alive with use,
Or even in the particles of dust that lie dormant
Until a curious new mind comes and kicks it up
With a seance, to have their heart aflutter in candlelight

And try to peak behind the chains
And underneath the dust and sheets
To try to see what's on the other side.

Little Heart-Shaped Candies

We've made something so sweet
It'll rot your teeth
And fatten you up
Until the doctor takes your feet.

If I Could Just Reach Out

I look over at you on your sleepy island stranded
And I wish I could swim over to you from mine
But the gap is too wide and I don't want to risk
Awakening a Great White shark or a Colossal squid
Or some other maritime beast of larger than life stature

So I try to get you to arouse enough to notice
But you don't understand my semaphore
And the banners I run get lost in the glaring sunlight
And my voice is too faint to yell and too far to be heard
But I could turn to matches and start a fire
So maybe you can smell the smoke and see the flame
My burning may be hasty and poses risk of consuming
My everything of a life aging on this island deserted but I
But to see you I wish to remain free from flames scorching
Because they sear quicker than the Sun
Who has helped in hiding my blushing face in your brilliance
But it is now the Moon who I am relying to open a path
Hidden by tides a sandbar on which we can meet
And embrace until the sea douses our dawning bodies.

O Beckon Unto Me

Like my time spent outside in this season,
        My thoughts get more brief,
Yet my words still give shelter
--Warm & Inviting.

A Broken Cane and Discount Glasses

The poor man who counts on
      The bonds and stocks of other people
Is the fool for not buying more into himself.

The vigor of this generation has been lost.
Thoughts have gotten in the way of action.

"Deer Tracks"

"Beautiful, sobbing, high-geared fucking
and then to lie silently like deer tracks
in the freshly-fallen snow beside the one
      you love. That's all."
                                          -R.B.