The ghost of what I want


the ghost of what I want 

haunts my waking life

drives me to great lengths

hangs me from great heights 


desires laid out in front of me

like a vista from a hill

I descend slowly then I 

tumble and fall


into the valley

the fruit’s so succulent 

like a summer in Italy

captured on an olive oil label 


the ghost of what I want

doesn’t let me rest on Saturdays

I’ve got a week of catching up 

after being spun all week long 


I almost become myself 

for a few minutes that evening 

before sleep takes what it needs from me 

pulling those ghosts down 


◄ Specific Gravities

13 Forever ►


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Patricia and Stefan Wilde

Tue 19th Dec 2017 22:16

an unusual food for thought kind of poem Robert.
we like it a lot.


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