there's always a ghost...

that lurks around me...
it squirrels around me like
a cat that has decided to make
me it's own.

it wraps me in
invisible strings and
conspires to crawl into bed with me
and pull me from side to side,
waiting just till I think I will sleep,
then, it gently tugs.

it lives in my shoes and
bites my feet.
it rides in the back seat
of my car.
it stares from behind
my mirror.
it flows in the ink from my pen.

I don't know where it came from
or who it is, this ghost.
it shifts shape and baffles
my attempts know it or,
at least, know it better.
is it you?
or you?
or me?

I didn't ask for a ghost.
maybe it came in the mail
one day, or snuck in when
you closed the door behind you.

but, it's here,
looking over my shoulder as I write,
looking over my shoulder as I look
for a ghost.


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