"but it wasn't it was
right here in my room
with me
a ghost a forefather a
surprise
descant of the eyes
moving through a chipped
decanter.
I wasn't sure whether or
not
to take the stopper off
to take the stopper off
and where to pour the
contents.
Maybe they would slink
themselves
out of the chips, slowly
climb up
to the ceiling and drip themselves down.
Maybe the bottle would fling itself against
the mirror and allow someone or something else
to crack out of that broken glass."
within j/j hastain and I's poem, "Pajama Bottoms for Flying Ghosts of the Underworld", which I am delighted to have appearing in Deluge NO. 12!
read more HERE - http://www.radioactivemoat.com/juliet-cook--jj-hastain.html
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