I am looking for ghosts, listening to the pavement,
with hopes that I can raise the dead so they can shine again.
I am waiting for signs, reading all the faces.
There isn’t one I recognize, so why am I surprised?
This town won’t let me forget.
Poison streams and wet dreams, yellow Stingray for escape.
I miss the freak walker’s gate.
Professor styled and tortured, a beacon for the weak.
I miss the bloodied asphalt.
It may have been the sun distorting a tear, but I swear I saw them.
I ran to grab a hand that wasn’t there, but I know I saw them.
I’ve walked these streets from Locust to Bethlehem all my life,
so I know every hiding place.
When love forgets, we dissolve like daylight.
I am looking for ghosts.

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