--- Okay so, I wrote this piece yesterday and I feel kinda weird about it 'cause for like two years all my stuff has been this spiraling spoken word performance stuff, and lately I've been doing more like, regular poems? Blah. Anyway, I'm all insecure and bizarre about this one, so if anybody feels like commenting or suggesting or anything, I'd appreciate it. Thanks, kids. ---
How There Got to be Ghosts in the City
The first thing that we noticed was the smell.
And then the color
fading from our cheeks,
They say there’s no point
in trying to fight it.
He spreads his fingers, saying,
Nothing is real to me.
The heat sweeps across us like fire.
All the liars
have been executed for their crimes, which leaves
Everybody’s a liar, dear.
You said it to me softly
like you were trying to remind me
that it wasn’t my fault
This city kills.
This city’s a killer.
Nothing is real.
Can’t you see me?
His reply is cold like the old bones
that they found beneath the parking lot.
The rot penetrates our flesh like termites through wood.
Your insistent eyes stare back at me
through the open window.
I’ve loved you before,
I will love you again.
The implication is
that you don’t
love me now.