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.