Posts tagged ‘ghosts’

October 30, 2015

Proof of an Afterlife

It’s hard to believe in an afterlife.
You lose a lot of people close to you
and October mornings seem colder.
Things appear more apart,
even shoelaces have to cross lines.
I think at least half of me died,
while the other part doesn’t mind…

Ben Franklin and his buddy had a pact
where whoever died first would
come back and say a code word,
like “rosewood”
or “cheery tree”
or I don’t know. Google it…
And they would just know there
was an afterlife—it never happened…

I think if I die the only proof of afterlife
will come in this form: I will come back
as a ghost at 3 in the morning
and raid all of the leftovers
in my mother’s fridge.
It will be loud and unmistakable, this proof.
And then I will be gone forever,
off to a hard sleep. And the very next day
when asked about it, all concerned,
I will bold face lie. There’s your proof.

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April 18, 2014

Oh God

We should be less concerned with God
And more concerned with Heart Disease

The latter has taken more from me than- God knows.

Anyway, anyone can buy a one way ticket to him with a simple diagnosis;
However, we are more fearful of the “devil” and “ghosts”.

These two things do not exist.
Things that do exist: birth, names, and death;

Let me explain:

A pill is forgotten
She is two weeks late
***
A child is born
Hard familiar debate

His name is: “Jesus Christ”
He sounds so nice,

Like Billy Pilgrim
Like Marla Singer
Like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
Like Of Men and Mice (or vice versa)

Headache appeal
Only apropos

As the “Second coming of the Lord”

Righteous abolishment of abortion
In attempts at fruition
Bacon on the back burner
To slow the heart murmurs

Band-Aids
For exacting stitches

They used to say the cart before the horse
Now, they designate fiction for logic and reason.

***

Prologue

We have seen family members pass on,
We have never seen the devil

Why wouldn’t a person make an empirically objective observation?
–we’ve heard stories,
One can tell.

September 20, 2012

Odd Lot (Metamorphic)

Solid spot.

Odd lot.

Authoritative disorder.

 

Borderline the freak.

Peaked on transparent, yet discrete.

The truth about mortar.

 

Presumably bleak.

Climb the peak.

 

We wake from the sheets, from sleep, to hunt meat as to eat.

 

At least we fall in heaps together.

 

One marks us when we are gone.

 

Enough passion to be seen from the streets,

from the trees,

from the clouds,

from the sky-how high?

 

Out of this orbit.

 

So morbid a sight to see.

 

Blessed

are we,

are us,

are fools.

 

Our hopes,

our lives,

our kids

our rules,

 

we build our trust.

…  And then we die…

 

Fixed with fashion,

A ship going down.

Straight lips-ambiguous, no smile, no frown.

 

Tight hands clutched in a lovers quarrel.

We ride to the center of the earth to steam and boil.

 

Then we start over.