Late at night when all is still,
I sometimes hear a lively call
a singing voice--beautiful,
it haunts me.
The ghost of you.
Waking from yesterday's dream,
chest heavy,
a hand reaches down
from the dark of the ceiling.
Should I take it?
Maybe it will pull me up.
Grip my skull tight
and force the bones together.
The splinters that let people see
light through my mask.
Those glimpses I toss out.
Scummy gemstones
to be
snatched up.
Please.
They grab
and grab
and
grab.
Or at least that’s how it feels.
Last time they checked in there was
a sound beneath the white of the radio wash.
They said I was smiling so bright they could hear it.
They told me I need to clean my act up.
