Mallory Malloy

I am a Ghost.

Mallory Malloy.

Melding into faux leather

Turning green to match my ire.

Who is she?

That strange thing crouched in the trash can

Waiting to burst forth,

Buried in a sea of paper towels.

She's bleeding pity

On those pale pink walls

Seven called about,

But the endless barrage of cattle

Never hear over their

Noisy swallows and timed defecations

While staring at those same pink stalls,

Chewing over last's months columns.

Paradise sits above her horizon

Teasing worn out eyes

With their failed attempt at spreading God

Through glimpses of our own created Eden -

My own eyes close with vines,

Grass grows out my ears,

She took her belongings with her

Leaving me boxed on spinning wood

Without saying goodbye.

I am a Ghost.

Maurice - Part 1

There's a man following me,

Always lurking

On the edge of unconsciousness,

Floating three feet higher than he should.

I haven't decided if it's God,

Or Dad,

Or Great Uncle Percy-

Who's bookcase lives

In the bedroom on the left

Under a display of poisonous teacups -

Or maybe none of the above.

My overly vivid imagination

Tricks my eyes on

More than one occasion.

Still,

His image,

Not nearly as frightening as hers -

That terrible woman last night

Who tried to eat me whole -

Is a constant companion,

A chilling Maurice,

Warning me of a future

Even he couldn't escape.

Evening Drive

Air hair cuts spiderwebs in my neck,

With sixty miles of wind at work,

Each end a scabbard sharp, unsheathed.

Hello strand whose name I know,

You've blocked leftover graves

Keeping them at bay,

Simultaneously calling me closer.

He hasn't spoke in four years time,

That old cricket-

The one I've known for years-

Crawled out of his unmarked grave

And into my passenger side glass,

Singing while a stranger's lights

Fly closer,

Over stains of people who were,

Ominously bright.

I am no deer.

I open up,

Harmonizing with a monster I never met,

Not till this night.

It's beauty takes my breath,

Sound, blue black,

Floats away behind her.

Edith wraps round my head,

Working her way inside

Through visions on my skin,

Stealing my expected solitude

Not knowing why she came,

While a silver slab sits idly by.