the ghosts of past poets peruse my prose.
"alliteration?, that was a cheap opening"
these shadows seep into my soul, showing
me the ways to silence the sirens inside;
through letters in words in lines in stanzas
through poems through syntax through imagery.

they led me down the road to a radio tower.
they let me go up it, to shout these words into
every ear of every man everywhere everywhen.

the ghosts, vanished
the people, terrified
the tower, toppled
the I? i am still
finding out.
where it is
that I
fell
to.