I flushed them out with the help of a hurricane
Back to smaller dimensions curled up and forgotten
Long since tucked away deep
Into the ancient brain tissue
This life thing has festered out of
Theirs was a stumbled infusion
Herniating into this humble abode
This place of periodic quietude and unfinished business
This outpost of expectant hope and mathematical doubt
Taking refuge in its emptiness
Living in corners and sleeping under couches or
Inhabiting the now lifeless vessel of
Anything that once had a face
A photograph, a stuffed animal, a cold statue
I have no doubt they are mischief makers
Snickering somewhere deep beneath those glass eyes
Gassing out the musty pollen of self degeneration
Droning the slow magnetic drag of despair…
So, with the purity of white candles
And the dispersing aroma of burning sage
I scoured the house of these stubborn astral beasts
And sent them quietly howling and spiraling away
Squeezed like water from fire boiling and
Vaporizing from our holographic reality into another
One in which I have no interest in discovering
