Friday, March 22, 2019

Ectoplasmic Pipe

A syrupy strand
extended from the ghost,
the kind I grew up fearing,
the cold stuff of germs
and life. The cooled off
product of a hot inside
locked onto my flesh,
here in the dark and silence,
like a life cable,
Come back into
invitation, voice and hope.
I don't yet age in the dark.


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