7:03 pm / Sunday, Apr. 26, 2009
We sat beneath the attic floorboards as rhythms rumble from above.
Ghostomp grievances upset our inherent good nature.
Where did they come from?
Their shadowy feet pound notches into the soft pine spacey wood planks longituding the room upstairs.
Somehow they've managed to 'ratitat'
despite of the heat and mice.
Ghostaggering around as if they belong--
perhaps they do.
sould bound to our home
like my heart to an exlover
bits of us still embedded within
the plaster of the walls;
the flesh of their hearts.
Please don't leave--
don't slip through the roofcracks.
Don't stop dancing! Your cadence sounds like memory:
sweet tea and rhyming words,
the smell of books and nickles and pickle spears.