The sound of this day is an incantation; we have conjured a spirit
both ancient and terrifying.
Why do we hate the state we've found?
We don't hate the state.
We are in simple disagreement. She was content
with the life she lead, the head
on her tanned shoulders swiveled.
We all want the next best thing. We all wait for
the next best thing. We all want the next hometown.
We all want the next Asian boyfriend.
Well how do you like them apples?
We've got ourselves a comedian.
This room, we see, is too full of ghosts. I think our beer
has been dosed. Someone found us having too much
fun. Someone found our beds full-up with new flesh.
Found our volume too high, our laughter too sincere.
We don't want these ghosts anymore. Our new home,
grid like a maze, have hidden us in plain view. One
of many now. One of the disappeared. We have found
new life. You didn't believe, but we said we were exorcising.
Please, don't read this unless you have to.
Sometimes writers
have a way of haunting back.
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