My ghost lies in the

dead

space before the telephone rings

Spirit swells in the seconds before sound

Soul split like three-way

Faith dropped like bad connection and an elevator

 

 

My ghost lives in the static

    the dial tone

the paranormal in your

phone meant to make you

uneasy

unsteady

weak

 

Like rope snapped

from the weight of a life too

heavy

Like rope snapped

from weight hung high as

unrealistic ambitions

Reminds me never to

shoot

for the stars

Only to aim for height I can attain

Or get hanged

Well dammit

Mama’s never seen the view from up here

Pop’s never been 100 feet high

That’s only me

and this beam

both buried 6 feet deep