Jumps back on the ketamine and the *******
and stands in alleyways and lanes
and forgets why the stars sit and the moon stands;
who fights demons with hairdryers and backward hats.

And it’s okay to look like your Dad you never knew,
in glances through the wood would only a few see the resemblance,
but similar hair won’t make up for lost Christmases
and days away at rain safari parks.

You’ll have to leave the fox hole through the brambles
at some point in the future,
so get scratched now and bleed a little sigh
of relief,
one that you’ve broken the tie and loosened the knot
and show us all that you’re out of your cot.

i've hung up these green
christmas lights
because you had blue
and i'm getting a record player
because you had one too
and on christmas night
i put on the green man while
he bellows "i can't lose you"
over and over and over
in my ears and i listen to
it over and over and over
and i look at our pictures
and i realize that we are
over and over and over

she’s kind of like a ghost
in that she’ll float in and out of the room
and touch the clock
that is so silly now

she’s kind of like a ghost
because she’s often
scared and lost
and she disappears
when you touch her

she’s kind of like a ghost
that I want to help
with her unfinished
business
but she can’t hear me say
her name

she’s kind of like a ghost
of a little girl who just needs
a friend

she’s kind of like a ghost
that dances with me under
that sheet she’s wearing

she’s kind of like a ghost
who can see how transparent
I am too

she’s kind of like a ghost
and I will wait for days
in the same spot
to see her pass through just
once

she’s kind of like a ghost
that makes me want to die
so I can maybe hold her
hand

she’s kind of like a ghost
and people tell me ghosts
aren’t real

a short bald man with
a big belly lives nearby
and from out of his furflesh cave
he peeks out once or twice a night
to remind me that he
is the only company I have any more
and he is the worst company to keep
he'll come over at the worst possible hours
while I am working
while I am crying
we'll party til he pukes
right in my lap

I want him out, I want him gone
I want to think.
He is the ghost that will light a fire
in someone's yard, spit in a face
and dash to leave me with the mess
I want to cut him out of my life, this
parasitic twin that drains all creation from
me

I was a good person until I
met him late on the computer screen
dial up noise, legs hoisted high
I was only looking for a magician
he crawled in to bed with me and
my green nightshirt went dark
and the wolf in my room
crusted over with rot and oil

Each time I pass
the bus stop where I
met Hallelujah Studs
my eyes water and my puppy tail
wags and swishes and wishes
for her to just text me back
the Tobacco tolls and my tobacco rolls
and I smile to read her name

a wake, a funeral would be less
of a stress
than to toss and turn in my sleep
and dream of her face on these pillows
which have salt stains from both
the ritualistic tears
and the spilled seed of
fruitless petting

I want to be
the next
Bu
Kow
Ski

and when I look in the mirror
I see my ****** face with a matching 'tude
the drink and the smoke in my mouth roll out
sending my lovers running
and I can't even see my **** over this paunch

I am the next Bukowski