creature to be feared,
on calamitous nights
foretold by those who
hate me most, a jerk
fireman who puts out
lies, first responder
I might appear, or I,
smiling skull atop collars
big as plastic dog cones
might serve in my place
to scare everyone. Pop off
their cool and they weep
for me to let them be,
and maybe i will, but
maybe not. The terrified
make me laugh horribly
until they faint dead away.
Not there to understand
people, who bore me,
but i am, i think,
my ghost be damned,
which I am, but refuse
to go, choosing to be near
life, or anything close, my
gaping skull mouth grin
eager for anything not yet
dead, as if I was eating
all our lives as flavors
I forgot I loved so much
and, of course, i a ghost
can dine on this forever,
and so can I, until I puke
on all the fear and lies,
coming from the smokestack
pipes inside most people.
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