indisposed little ghost

recalling my lost,

child-made plans,

(when seeds had then

grown more simple)

i wonder where

my will walked off to,

why my hands are now

sheer and dimpled

i think nothing of novelty,

bear a thin, vapor frame

sucking air through my loose,

clouded glands (it’s a shame)

and i’m not as morbid

as i like to pretend

(as i like to play out in

my head these days)

though despite my time,

however partial,

i still long to witness the road

since i’ve been, i’ve sat,

an insomniac,

an odd, indisposed little ghost