ghost light

Ethereal or no, they must still feel my eyes on them.
Even a haunt should feel the hairs that stand on the back of your neck when someone watches you – right?
Living in a ghost state, it’s bound to happen almost any day. Almost every day. Someone through the wispy haze you used to know, a pale glimmer that once was a warm smile. Yet, what do I want? The brief brush of their incorporeal fingers on mine, making my hands further cold and alone? A sign of recognition and solemn nod, acknowledging the past that lingers for no one but me?

That’s one thing about a ghost state – you can’t burn it down. Flames don’t register on their insubstance. Tear down or dig up or build upon the sundered ground, it will always be a ghost state. They may never acknowledge you – but they will never go away.

often times I can't separate the
people from the bright lights
and serpents.
in the supermarket
I see them standing and waiting
or pushing their carts.
I see rumps and ears and eyes
and skin and mouths, and
I feel curiously detached.
I suppose I fear them or
I fear their difference and
I step aside as they
pick up rolls of toilet paper,
apricots, heads of lettuce.

today I saw a man
less than 3 feet tall.
he was shorter than his
shopping basket as he
stood angrily in the aisle
looping steaks into his shopping
cart.
for a moment I felt like
touching him and saying,
"so you're different too?"
but I moved on as the
lights glared and
serpents abounded.

my total at the register
was $46.42
I paid the cashier whose
teeth kept watching me.
without warning
a bolt of lightening
flashed past my left ear
and flickered out in the fresh
egg section. then
I picked up my bag and
walked out to the parking
lot.

bright lights and serpents - c. bukowski