Some people say they don’t believe in ghosts But there is one sitting right under your nose It is the ghost of your father’s father Asking you what the hell you are doing You accomplishments are meager but your Trivial cheek would describe otherwise. Hornets swallow your ever-changing eyes, And come pouring out at me with a glance. But even with those mad hornets swarming, Even with the maggots dropping out of Your contemptuous mouth, light still shines on the cocoons encasing your hushed breath.