the ghost of you in her innocence

in the words of a song

or the flower tip that aches for cutting

screaming verse and transforming from thin air

I attach the horrid memory of you

to the place I dream.

I want to pick the petals off and rub the head in the dirt

only knowing if I do plenty more of you will come up.

irskome and loathsome you haunt these walls I know it

what I hate is that recoil when innocence reminds me

of your cruel tricks again.

I turn my face from you

I have nothing but the desire to erase you

and a new dream of contetedness

after the final exorcism.