BootShopStory

The starlight, evening
bright, all it's vale,
if anything good from
the semi-invisible cocoon
of television had an
invisible & in it's point,
natural task, or Holiday
fulfillment point, to it's
strange joint, a terror, a
horror, a ghost channeled
up from just a small
spark of fear, like a
dust flash, or the
cool mist & mote of life,
in it's strange, & sometimes
vacant pool, & the water
here moved, as if touched by
a shrouded ghost out of
it's webbed white &
grey tomb,
the damping whispered the
antenna, & all channels
changed will in one
way, & far to one
distant field, all the field
was tended, leaves collected, hay
rolled & indifferently still.  

After the Oct 31st autumn,
with mantis wings, eyes,
& beak, spider web egg,
from 3rd level of string,
& small birds nest,
in leafless bush,
night,night,night,
a ghost!

It seemed to delight
the shower to find
the statue there,
& the spider moved
up the dirt path,
past uncarved pumpkins,
not yet charged to
dilute the strange
multitudinous forms of
the years demons,
& the spider moved
with what seemed the
showers delight,
& there was
no statue there,
no figure,
no plaque,
just spider
in it's web,
having a snack.

The bone in the marsh,
where meteor light pulled
up the fowl & wild
grass,
where willow's ghost
hid the wild flower
phantom things,
the bones in the stars
pulling spiders from
their bound hair,
to find & free
the medicine three,
the hair must
be let down, & the
bones lay uncollected,
should a red devil
& white angel choose not
to misjudge, Door Fly
the ghost from a
city blocks paper asking
from it's collection of
boundless hearts & minds,
to free the retentive eye,
for a 1st prize president
to pay, build & never challenge,
the mould of strength
& the Vampire
winked

Her house is a haunted
light that will not break,
though a curtain may
move with a strange
spirit, a spirit that
see's for what it will,
lingering here
for very long, & the cookie
moon begins a watch,
& the mind may fill full &
brightly, the spirit here
quite welcome to the next
quest of the Christmas
spirit, quite welcome, & how
odd a genuine wish for a
Christmas ghost,
The curtains may
look red here, black or blue,
in a yard one cannot
see, kin to locked garden,
or isolated continents wilds
at tree & animal being,
crack the Cookie Moon
for the Red Witch
&
Halloween,
A pumpkin drawn on the sidewalk in
Summer,
It's face smiling,
the smell of a baked pie,
a bird in the
evening tree, is it
a ghost or a book here that
says it, the Red Witch goes
back inside quietly, the Moon fades,
tomorrow is the day when silence stills
it's lair,
her dog's speak & smile, & cats sit gently pur & stare.

The Great Owl sat
in it's tree, watching
darkness itself, across
the way of the
blue country road,
from that black shadow
a fly would drift
in & out of the light,
out into the light,
& back into the
invisible dark, again
& again,
before dawn a
visible spirit, a ghost
moved, then quite visibly,
out onto the blue
country road, & before
the Sun had time to
rise, walked down
that country road,
disappearing down the
blue horizon.

The gaunt anatomy, to find
I came mostly on horseback,
no desire to flay, for every
detail a pale child's fist,
white fields leaned sideways,
the castle windows seemed
to of their background
& appearance that they
accentuated the blind brilliance
with the white winter-murdered
hosts, stiffening for death,
colours that were sunk
in the darkness of that
whiteness,
sometimes by moonlight,
like the heart of an
ancient home,
sharper shapes from a
silence that was unbreakable,
here the land like a
curtain, a thick drapery
of gold with a
thousand dumb &
blinking stitched skulls
to pass through with
dumb & teddy bear blinking
eyes, the white horse of Death
grazing in a field of bones.

from the three door
ways, & the crooked
staircase of cracked
carpeting & frayed dust,
looking dirty in the light,
like dead shadow,
the stuff of horror,
& quite the opposite of
Peter Pan's issue,
soap come to think
of it the only source
to come, though a
wet staircase & carpet,
a macabre image, to
be sure, & sill to
be honest & this being
true, the staircase
in frayed dust & cracked
carpeting looking darker
& longer in the glowing
gloom, & when the clock
chimed, it was as
though the house in
it's shadow & stone,
& strange tooth, took
on the very essence of the
one named Hook, & a pumpkin was set
outside for Halloween.