Ghost

I would read a book If you had not been so smart I might watch the TV If you had not despised it so much I could sing again, and bathe If you hadn't ruined the bath tub with your perfectly slit wrists and desperate stare up and away. I should cook, or eat, perhaps sleep again; If your ghost was not so much a part of everything I'd gotten comfortable with -- absolute with what I'd become used to. Maybe I'd fess up to my lies and contradictions: Evictions, erections Decisions, defections. Now I run lover Out and about Now I run lover Without a route Now I run lover Circles for you You were never an Angel But perfectly blue. I could forget you, had I the notion of swallowing lightning (now that's devotion) and no longer fighting, or drinking, or biting the world for staring right through me by mentioning you.