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The Ghost With The Body



The ghost with the body walks somewhere else.
Do I, so distant, choose to be haunted?
What is dead is gone
but what is gone may not be dead.
We find that monstrous.
Monster, us.
The ghost with the body walks—
or sits, or sleeps, how the hell should I know?!
somewhere else, maybe far, far away,
maybe beside me, maybe only in memory,
and I can be haunted or not haunted by this,
can choose, I think, to be haunted or not haunted.
The wind that blows here flows there too.  Or does it?
But there is a wind blowing there, I know it.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.