ode to ghosts
i am / the reflection from my laptop’s dimmed screen / black
paper with white ink, invisible smoke holding the pen like
an ouija board from the other side. / i am a room with the sign
sorry. the lights are broken inside. you know, like a box /
schrodinger’s box. / the trolley dilemma in which the lever
is my first love’s hand, the one i had let go of five years ago.
i am / a dream in a portrait in a mural in a cathedral but my
tongue is a star-burnt rock. / the floor of my room is made
of letters carved in limestone tablets, one of them reads
hey, i’m sorry. my first love is a girl but God she is beautiful
and i don’t think i can ever be forgiven as long as i love her /
a fountain pen erupts between two hands / oil-drenched.
i am / an acrostic poem that spells out someone else’s
name. / the air is heavy inside the box / skinner’s box.
someone is rubbing their palms together in my room but
i can’t see through the dark / my greatest fear is an asteroid
hitting earth and not being there to see it / round glass
shatters around the word yes on the board. yes. yes. yes. yes.