i don't believe in ghosts (or rather, i don't want to)

but there's no other name for my first love who still haunts me, the reason why there are still times that love feels like bile in my throat;

and there's no other name for the nightmares i wake up from in the middle of the night, this echo of what i was never able to do for others;

and there's no other name for the girl i killed years ago; this version of me i murdered, this version of me who was potentially much better;  

i don't believe in ghosts,

but i have a few and i've named them so that they can keep me company when no one else can,

(my favorite ghost, her name is regret; she's often seen with what if and could have been)

and i have stories to tell, not at camp fires, no, but maybe over the phone when it's three a.m in the morning and i've had one too many to drink,

(let me tell you about how he left me; let me tell you about how many times i watched my friends die in my sleep; let me tell you about the person i was before i decided i can't be her any longer)

and i can't get rid of them, no matter how hard i try.

(i throw salt and offer prayers but it doesn't seem to be effective)

everyone has ghosts whether they believe in them or not; ghosts they want to get rid of, ghosts they can't get rid of, ghosts that only they see, ghosts everyone else can point out;

who's yours?

With a baby giggle
And a shaky dawdle
The toddler advances
As with a dry cackle
And senile posture
A senior citizen true
stretches an arm out
To meet his soul mate
The two are helpless
Against technology

In the first few years
Time ‘s just a word
Thereafter, time’s a hurdle
In the twilight years
Time’s so expendable
Yet so hard to find

This home that is my body
is haunted by the demons
sleeping soundly in my head
My veins pulse in cadence
to the dreams in my mind
Memories of darker days
Nightmares peeling my skin
baring my desolate soul
before my own jaded eyes
My spirit dormant in this life
I walk like a ghost in the night
Spent like my withered bones
Alone in the mass of people
And like the molting cicada
I am the hollow shell
With lungs filled with dust
A heart keeping me standing
while i’m falling inside myself
waiting for the next breath

when we think idle thoughts and ****** with our mind
we might as well just blandly look into the sky
and absent-mindedly pursue the flights of distant birds
against the matrix of blue firmaments
which seem less infinite than our imaginary universe

trying to look beyond that globe of blue
we venture into depths that really make us think
about the cosmos out in space
infinite stars and planets of unknown identity

we soon become aware
that our idle thoughts are dwarfed
by the immenseness of the space
through which not quite discovered forces
propel our planet with incredible speed
to destinies we do not know

perhaps in order to avoid acknowledgement
of this precarious reality
we fill our lives with more comforting things
fashions  wars  power games  religion  money  
internet chats  with other avatars  et cetera

anything to distract us from the contemplation
of insights into how to live
   in such a transient indeterminacy
with a determined sense of goal and meaning

think about it

They carried us
Through gestation,
Or adopted
Without hesitation.
Our coming
Was a celebration,
Mothers are our affirmation.
They deliver.

When we were quiet
From travails,
She made time
For school-yard tales.
The warmth of sunshine
Shyly pales
To her prevailing arms.

They nurtured us
Til eyes dried out;
Cried alone
When we left
The house;
Waiting by the door,
Like a living cure.

When Moms do well
All can tell
The Madonna-like connection:
No need to forgive them,
We'll always grieve them;
They've loved us
Since conception.

I sit satisfied
Smiling smugly
Ha!  I think.
Go ahead,
Just ask me anything you want to know
Go ahead.
I defy you!
Huh?
Whaddaya mean
Is it dark
Inside of
Snowballs?

I am longing to get lost somewhere far, far away. Away from the routine hum of constantly pushing the snooze button. Away from the stress of misunderstanding and complication, the hunger of chaos and disorganization. I desire to grasp the entire world with my own eyes rather than with a microscope that can only be focused on untouched possibility. I want to view life in vibrant colors I've only ever been able to understand in my mind and to speak of my adventures in words that have never been written down. I want to drive down avenues that no longer exist and balance at the very top of a mountain that has forgotten the feel of footsteps. I am thirsty for the impossible. I am exhausted of falling asleep to the sound of my own heartbeat banging against my bedroom walls and breathing in air that has already been exhaled in past lives. I will never settle for contentment. I will never settle.