Ghost guts on the tracks
Houses with turrets rut and turn
quick below the touch. Let’s imagine
a street quieter than this one on
a Saturday, and more choked
with gothic. The ones with the taped-
down doors make me nervous.
I imagine the dead numb and filled
with stars; like getting so high
even relief is beneath you.
You probably like those midnight
allies so black with going nowhere
following becomes epic. That’s some
killer shit. Bit by bit they’re boarding
up Lorain, Ohio, and leaving it
to starve the ghosts out of its guts
Technorati Tags: lorain, ohio, ghosts, houses, saturday, postmodern poetry
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