2nd reflection on ghosts.

by Sigma

to me apparitions

are real. reflections

and projections in

the theater of the mind

a clear memorization

of movies like

Auntie Mame, The Divorcee

Donnie Darko, The Little Mermaid

all just emanations

from an imaginary age.

ghostly mid day matinees

I've seen you in

the faces of strangers,

felt my heart being

tugged toward

a space you used

to occupy.

left alone

to ask myself

"why god, why?"

while im crying

because of lost time

and losing you

positive feedback loops churn

from melted permafrost layers

and black fermented goo

from compressed rock

pipe hot prayers

to snake oilmen's

placid lakes of putrid waste

belching forth

heavy side

smokestacks

in shapes of casper

the holy ghost

all to propagate

black mirrors to measure

length and width of

our gilded cages

when we always seem to lose

who are you gonna call?

will I to be forced to bend

again as self-consuming

serpent?

a shapely screen upon

which you're projected

or finally

be all the

parts me of

that remain

blessed and

well-respected.

why am I not chafed by the

thought this gilded age

might take the best of me?

perhaps,

ive already seen

vestiges of who I

used to be

succumb

to irrelevancy,

at least since 9/11.

timestamped apparitions

all of them,

shadows

cast behind,

while im staring at an

early-morning sunrise.

remaining forever

in the present.