I get tired of myself and living with ghosts
My cats even tire of my being
I take lots of showers – try to plant flowers
Nothing of interest to dream

I do art in my head
Write great songs in my bed
Heaven forbid I should clean
No one showed me how
Too late to start now
It’s a style – everything in a pile

So I try to write
Stay up half the night
Maybe I’ll get something said
Sometimes I scream
To just let off steam
It sends  ghostie parts fleeing in fright.