Ghost Writers
It’s all
ghosts
after awhile.
Ghost loves
ghost glories
ghost flesh.
The brave
heart turns
ghostly, eyes
water &
blur.
Legs tremble
at the
thought of
standing.
Stand legs,
the mind
suggests
half-heartedly,
& out
of habit
they
wobble up.
The stories
of your
youth that
you’ve been
telling
for years
(the first
sign of
what’s
to come)
grow muddled.
This is
the point
at which
most writers
go silent.
Few have
the clarity
to embrace
the fall.
