ghost, anyone’s ghost, perhaps your ghost

steps back from the mirror

a door into the imaginary, an apprehended space

where is visualised a discordant haze

a pulse of implosiveness

that never intersects with anyone

yet stares back at you

releasing a helix cycle of identities

where in indolence cleanses

are made lamentable

with odorous contempt

for the pitiless destinies

of ghosts, anyone’s ghost, perhaps your ghost