aimless ghosts

aimless ghosts wander like pollution through me
to haunt a skeleton with thoughts
and their consequences;

they become a filling for time, like a very long
disjunction, life or suicide or suicide or suicide
that every day life makes true

happening to be alive, listening to Little Feat
and not minding nothing for a while
because that’s what time was then,

and because it happened, it keeps on happening
as the ghosts go through me, instants
to believe in,

these gray ghosts have their reasons
for all the gruesome living, where we are ghosts
or children

or both, fleshy skeletons full of dust
and meanings, a coffin gives us the room
we need to invent truth in, enough for any human

to be, a true dream, a bed, a devil,
a night and a memory, blood
and a reason, being

like a sea of drugs and tranquility
you can download relatively easily -
and there are rivers in hell

but i don’t know what’s in them,
all i know well is my heaven


David McLean  David McLean's website is Welsh but has lived in Sweden since 1987. He lives there in a cottage on a hill with a woman, five selfish cats, and a stupid puppy. He has a BA in History from Balliol, and an unconnected MA in philsophy, much later, from Stockholm. Details of his three available full length books, various chapbooks, and almsot 800 poems in or forthcoming at over 320 places online or in print over the last couple of years, are at his blog. He never submits by snail mail since he has little money and since he loves, or at least doesn’t have anything against, trees. He has recently been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, whatever that is. He would very much like you to buy his books so he can feed the animals exotic morsels. A new chapbook called “of dead snakes” is due at Rain over Bouville in Feb 2009, and another is coming from Poptritus Press in the summer sometime. A novella Henrietta forgets is forthcoming from Isms Press.

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