ghosts

ghosts flaunt aspen twigs threaded through the eyes
they are shy but able to steal the first
words you say entering the city
they store them in the places shunned by the authorities
dusty garrets stinking underpasses and sleazy banks of disappearing rivers
for the fishy poets of displeasing generations to discover
duty free stores are brimming with them as well as traffic lights all around
they hate the smell of tobacco but like to smoke rolled-up newspapers
and drink cheap wine from used plastic bottles in the parks
no matter how much you love them they have no use for verbs
they can tell your future though if you wish to know

 

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