A.D. Winans: new poem: GHOST SHADOWS

ghosts appear
in my bedroom at night
they are faceless
and their moans are inaudible
one is as large as sidney greenstreet
he sits on the side of the bed
leans over like a sinking ship
his eyes anchors that weigh me down
mock my 78 years
move like bulls in a bull ring
leave wreckage everywhere
they mark the months on my calendar
with large X’s,  Sidney gets up from
my bed, plays the saxophone
in a wailing blues melody
one female ghost mocks Billie Holiday
sings the lyrics, « hanging fruit. »

a mortician appears
wearing a black beret
He looks a little like Ferlinghetti
walks in heavy boots to the sound
of John Sosa’s marching band
I’m assigned a seat in Dante’s hell
where Satan turns up the heat
my mind boils over
zombie women flirt with me
a tribal council is convened
finds me unfit for membership
a cannibal sizes me up
invites me to dinner
God weighs in admits
he did not create man
in his own image
that Adam’s rib was a joke
the night engulfs me
the four walls collapse in the lap
of a defrocked priest who sings
me a lullaby
The dead sea comes to life
high tide battles low tide
a smattering of stars
fall from the sky
land at my pillow
like fairy dust
The Pope washes my feet
Jesus is not impressed
God lets out a yawn
The universe holds  back
its laughter
A.D. Winans

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