Mostly it’s the ghosts that go
unnoticed through the moonlit garden
barefoot over gravel and bramble,
running intangible fingertips through
these pools of light and shape, rippling
memory and make believe.
It’s never what or whom so much as
where I can put my paws on it,
how to hold it close enough to sink
my teeth in. I hold no claims,
I am without excuse. I indulge
appetite after appetite seeking
what will please. The mockery in
your eyes and that Mona Lisa
smirk, the stories you do not share
as the words implore and exult,
your life and limb a tossed off
archetype, prayer and priestess,
altar and goddess the way I tell it,
me it seems every boy called to the yard.
Lab rat, born pigeon, or lucky bum
flushed or fleeced I am that
unruly beast, hungry ghost
amid the legions and the hosts,
famished and matchless at the feast.
Greasy grinned from the glistening
bones cracked for the marrow,
I hunger past the trappings of the clock,
attached reckless to the instant of impact
this sweet tooth for all you are and aren’t.
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