wanted

everything is full of ghosts.

they are dead on replay, they rise

out of a song lyric

a water bottle

friendly shoulders

some chairs at night.

one specter awakens and calls up all the others,

their bones rattle as they write

words with their fingers and tongues

 times when you wouldn’t be forgotten outside in the cold

quiet art galleries

being asked to dinner

really white sheets and A team

you’d have people to sit with at the show

though these are all good things

they sting as all broken promises do. So I commune with these spirits,

tired of avoiding these commonplace terrors,

wait for those to come forth that calm the others

the peaceful, quieter, subtle loves

the stories that did not end in heart-wrenching shame

they come close and silence the ghosts which say

life will never be any better than failure.

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