Ghosts in my head

I got ghosts in my
head
everywhere
I stumble down
tracks
chasing trains
maybe dreams too
I don’t know
and I don’t
but
that’s ruben casey
still on the
roof
like jesse james
and john lee hooker
popping caps into
officer kinneson’s
black and white
like an
alarm clock
every morning

through that door
sits al’s mom
sweating
sipping cognac
smoking swister
sweets
head dancing slowly
hypnotically
to robert Johnson
spinning
scratches
static
lowdown
blues

the old white
woman
digging in
troughs of flowers
that’s Johnny’s mom
before he did that
stretch in chino
and became a tattooed
billboard
for hate
I got ghosts in my
head
sometimes it almost
hurts

J. Masuda © 2004
art
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Good stuff...and welcome to Anti-Prose!