i know where our ghosts are

i know where our ghosts live,
in cupboards, in the corners of a lover’s
smile. it exists only in old photographs
now. hold it.

i know where our ghosts live,
in the sound of a song you’ve somehow
forgotten, left behind somewhere
caught in your throat, on the tip of you
-r tongue/

i know where our ghosts live
behind this bone caged, in the rhythmic
pulse of your diaphragm, as they have stop
-ped with you left to continue
__with about as much passion as a
traffic light
and i wonder, you know, about this business
of being in love with the dead.
it’s exhausting.

they never answer back no matter how long
you lie screaming with your arms wide open.

and i wonder how i can be in so much love w
-ith the dead.

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