Spooks
I try not to let the mind
believe in its own ghosts. Struggle to be
filtered, safe & functional.
still they persist.
Found one in my computer as I was limbering...
thought it was still 25. Hallucinogenics as
calisthenics... stuff gets smoky, tokey fingers in the CPU fan
stinking up the cleanest arguments.
Several have migrated to my spine, think
they’ll build a bow...
arrows at the moon
arrows at the apples of my weeping eye.
More revenants yet have
clouded up my friends.
They have complained
it’s been so long since we caught up.
But all this phantom energy is also a pillow.
I sleep on a remnant conscience, give generously
in small doses while (part of a libertarian society)
working assiduously on Project Me.
Love isn’t the answer, it was never meant to be.
Spiritual growths are excised by diligent private surgeons.
I had this workmate who inherited nothing but problems,
happiness has acquired a weight.
The future may be a liberation, I could
blow off this clamour of vapours
or perhaps I will become one to
flop loose in the fascinating winds.
Brain & I will dawdle
if the sun comes around.
Working at the coalface of ecstasy
Onward is pledge & sentence.
by Les Wicks - Les Wicks has toured widely and seen publication in over 350 different magazines, anthologies & newspapers across 24 countries in 12 languages. His 13th book of poetry is Getting By Not Fitting In (Island, 2016). http://leswicks.tripod.com/lw.htm