1

A blank ghost.
Two cut-out eyes
so long I drag
on the floor ghost.

2

You see me and sob.

You see me and say you haven’t seen me outside a dream since.

You say you knew I’d be here.

You ask why must I wander the earth.

You wonder why are there two of me at the party,
you ask can ghosts have ghosts.

3

You see me and shudder,
duck into the kitchen
on the way out the backdoor.

4

You ask tell me.
You ask how am I really.
You ask where is the stash of morphine.

5

You sneak me a cigarette.
I’m a ghost. My worries are over.

If I set on fire everyone
will fear the afterlife.

6

You ask when did I start drinking vodka.

7

Many laugh and take

a picture with me. One man wants
to fuck me into a mountain,

a hailstorm, a tangerine for old
time’s sake. I want him to.

8

Many apologize in a scratchy
whisper. I don’t forgive.

9

A woman gathers a handful
of sheet, leads us to a dim bedroom,
asks if I remember our first kiss,

a long sloppy kiss in a breezeway
between two rooms.
Of course I do.

10

You call me Argo.

You call me Jett.

You call me Mina.

You call me Denise.

I keep every name straight
to carry the conversation
to the next life. I’m very popular
dead. I didn’t know there were
so many dead. The affection
for the dead.

11

In a mirror I see
my mother. She wouldn’t miss
a party. I tell her I wish.
She says oh honey.

12

We’re quiet. We stare a very long time.
I want to hold her hand again,
a rusty dry camellia bloom in my palm.

She has somewhere to be,
turns away. I say after her
I’ll only be a bit longer.