You have gotten too many poems.
You are a greedy ghost.
Your words come fast to me in the night
when I haven't a pen
but just a splaying of thoughts,
like old blood soaking into paper.
Who were you then? How are you now?
When did you make the escape or,
did you? I did, I thought. But perhaps not.
Am I different or is the difference that
different, or is the difference that
I no longer change?
Old cells dying off but
old memories remaining.
Sometimes a dream is a blink but I think
even language, your words can be
ingrained as
indelible ink.
Still...
I am trying to clear my head.
But all the shaking from side to side
isn't erasing you.
I have had a long night of listening.
The Chinese, I've heard, have a practice of
banishing ghosts on one night of the year.
I don't want you here. In my dreams or my head.
How does one, could one, re-kill the dead?
Or..
Placate them a bit...so they don't return to remit
all their dead vitriol onto
and into the living.
Are you worthy of forgiving?
Sometimes I believe the living
can be dead to us too.
You and I became dead in a certain
"memory space"
where and when I remember a time
when you dug into my face
and whispered "Goddess" into my rounded ear as
I was near dying myself.
98 pounds of nothing with a label.
Was it a goading, a rhetorical remark,
an encouragement to remain in my dark
-ness...
where my bone spider eyes stared out
into your and my nothingness?
The Goddess who doesn't eat nor sleep.
Doesn't drink. Cries dry tears as she weeps.
Your Goddess, a husk, marionette on a string.
She isn't, wasn't me. Your Goddess. Not me.
Giving up my life to the blood-pumper for free.
Sad dried-up cow with no home. Like being led to slaughter.
Wake up its a dream. You're not death;s fodder.
No Marilyn woman toy girl lost last at the ball.
You do not answer to the Goddess girl call...
Chase bombshell blond beauty tiny foot/hand cutie
down the dark hall to the light where she'll fall
and disintegrate into ash...to rise up at last
into some bird but no Chica-chickadee.
Goddess baby, she isn't me.
Be gone you male necromancer.
Be gone too
Goddess Ghost.
Copyright November 13, 2012 All Rights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells / Melissa/Meloo Tilt-a-World