the camaraderie of written words, a satisfying speechlessness. thank you for writing.
Listening for ghosts is dangerous. The angry dead crave a reckoning, an enfleshment that will or might return them to a different form of unbeing. What it is to desire a ghostly body. What it is to desire ghostliness.
I’ve been standing in grit-bearing wind
listening for traveling whispers
The angry dead are hungry. Not for the ghostliness of former enfleshments, but for something more than was available, something more than was promised, something more.
The hungry dead are writing,
feeding on your sleep,
borrowing your dreams
Place your ear on a termite hill—the hungry dead will speak to you. Place your hand in a mole hill—the angry dead will touch you. Put your fingers through the bars of a lion-bearing cage—the traveling dead will enflesh you.
Sit in a metal basin filled with green-dyed water, hold a pen filled with purple ink, learn to trace characters on green…
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