I wind my way across a black donut hole and space that clunks. Once I saw on a stage, as if at the bottom of a mineshaft, the precise footwork of some mechanical ballet. It was like looking into the brain of a cuckoo clock and it carried some part of me away forever. No one knows when they first see a thing, how
sign up to receive a new poem-a-day in your inbox
Ghosts and Fashion
Although it no longer has a body
to cover out of a sense of decorum,
the ghost must still consider fashion—
must clothe its invisibility in something
if it is to “appear” in public.
Some traditional specters favor
the simple shroud—
a toga of ectoplasm
swirling around them.
While others opt for lightweight versions
of once familiar tee shirts and jeans.
Perhaps being thought-forms,
they can change their outfits instantly—
or if they were loved ones,
it is we who clothe them
like dolls from memory.