Ghosts, like moments, can’t cast shadows. Yet why does memory never fail me when I’m trying to forget a thing? Hollow bones rattle and moan shrieking their siren song into my traitorous ears. I try to unhear, to tie myself up in the present, but my odyssey’s mast keeps sailing me straight into the past… To that place where you came to me bandaged, ghostly with gauze unraveling, your ends frayed like these dirty fingernails my teeth tear into. I don’t nailbite from nervousness, I chew on them because they are too soft, and their weakness causes a jagging of their surface that somehow scratches me more readily than a honed knife’s edge ever could, so I bite their ends off til they’re nothing but nubs – not even a sliver of half moon smile below the tips of my fingers, hoping to avert the inevitable hurt before they accidentally rake and rip the skeins of this too loosely woven skin I wear. It’s what I try to do with you. But the unanticipated scratch of you springs the trap, with one sharp snap, leaving me headless and bleeding.
Closed Captioned For The Thinking Impaired 
I’m hit by different lines each time I read it. I begin to unfurl one line, then realize I’m missing the next line. Something about this piece hooks into a part of my psyche I’m not as familiar with. You make me think. But I also caught up in the vortex of imagery, which is more sensory than cerebral, if that makes sense. I get dizzy. Thank you.
((((((((((((Donna)))))))))))))))