It isn't that you come here
moaning and flailing about my room
in a desperate apparitional brilliance
or that you move between my walls
omnipotent, chain rattling
but so much more
You make noise of fears
poets do not care of
of dying
of living
of beseech
of neglect
of need
but in a wailing assertion
If you want dominion here
break something
his future
his past
his heart -
his thoughts
If not
he will most likely
cast you out to dolts
tucked tight in beds
in other cul-de-sacs
You need to understand
this home owns a sedentary poet
seduced by despondence
as aloof as anyone
you have ever strived to poltergeist
he will not know of you
lacking gifted conversation
and a planchette