The ghosts run this city.
They make it noisy,
spin the turnstiles like grinders
and pull the roads so tight across
the plain, you can hear them squealing
when the buses run over them.
Tonight a bus abandoned me.
Said, stumble, you weary weeper,
and I stumbled.
In the parking lot of an abandoned electrical
company, I sat on the ground
in this part of town
where they will not build houses
and clouds like smoke and ash and dust
rolled quietly over the orange sky
and the quiet shut its gates behind me
and the ghosts shut down their factories
and they went on home to their ghost families
and their ghost dogs named Ghost Fido
and watched their ghost TVs
and I sat with my arms around my knees
and I cried and I cried and I fucking cried
and it was the most beautiful thing
I have ever fucking seen.