"THERE'S NO NO.19 BUS BACK FROM THE LAND OF THE DEAD!"

He walked through
the wall.

And then: stopped
half-way-through

so that he was both
in and out of it.

"Jaysus, bud..!" I wish
ya wouldn't do that!"

"Now, look..!" he says
"it's no great shakes being dead!"

I had to admit
the truth of that.

"I'm keeping our childhood promise
that the first one to kick the bucket

come back to
tell the other all about it!"

I shrug and say: "Hey
that was a long time ago

you know
a kid's promise!"

He shrugs or shrugs
as much as a ghost can shrug.

"Well, here I am!"

"Yeah, I can see that!"

"Now if I had just appeared
I was afraid that I would scare

the living daylights outta ya so
I thought I'd throw in a little humour

that half out of/half in stuff
and it kinda was a metaphor

for my way of life
now I'm dead."

"Yeah, yeah...sure sure!
So how do I know you're real?"

"Well, yer looking at me aren't you?"

"How do I know I am
not just me talking to me

a fragment of...
a figment of..."

"Use your imagination
there's no N0. 19 bus back

from the land of the dead
so it has to be this way!"

I had to admiit
the truth of that.

"I enter into the intertisest
between your dreams.

It's not exactly a piece of cale
trying to pull it off.

I keep bumping into
all your thoughts.

Us dead have only
memories of the future

the stuff we didn't have a chance to do
but would have done if we hadn't..."

He looked wistful and
began to fade.

"Drop in any time!"
I say.

"Will do!"
he says.

The photograph of him
on the wall

showing through his
ghostly body.

And then he was gone.

I wrote him down
so I could keep looking at him

trapped inside this
bunch of words.