BUT GHOSTS! DEFY

Anyone, anyone--I, too, will sing about ghosts
as they sing about ghosts.
She taught me to run into studies exclaiming their song:
"Theologians don't know nothing about my soul."
She taught me to forge into the black ahead; to take lightly those words
a friend may have said--though they have felt like gold
and proverb. She said, they will dissolve.
She first introduced me to bleating guitars,
whose piercing cry like a sheep's
sounds our hearts' internal long. These cries, too,
dissolve. She taught me to whisper of ghosts in all things.

In all things, ghosts. All feelings may dissolve,
but ghosts! defy.


I want to forget that a paper awaits my final touch (hours of final touches are waited for)... and I also need to write a poem for class. My poem-database is abundant, yet I want something new that seems my own. The pressure to produce quality work overwhelms my sense of what quality work exactly is. Everything seems sub-par now (just as that ridiculous paper is sub-par)...