you will know they have
torn down the old place
when that which dwelt there
with you
the ectoplasmic substance
the pneumatic essence
the goddamn ghost
will crouch at the
foot of your bed
in the dead of the night
in your shiny new flat
and you’ll sweat
uncertainty and wonder again
for she carries all
your old fears about
the Unknown
in a tiny spectral box
dangling from the noose
wrapped around her neck

#

there have been countless
others that have walked
the halls of the old place
now spread all over the city
like rats smoked out
of their lairs
but deep down inside
you know you are her first
and her last
so you’ll blurt out the
“Why me?” question that all
gods and ghosts resent

#

she’ll throw a ghastly grin
at you
she’s all about
rotten gums and
sharp misplaced teeth
and you’ll squeeze into
her tiny spectral box
like the well-behaved
kid you’ve always been
for you’ll finally understand
that you are no longer
a dweller of the old place
but the old place is now
a dweller of you