LETTERFIELD
In walking past Zelda's nuthouse,
there were things I had to do :
park this unvalued car, slide past
the No Entry signs, enter the
downing hallway, the steps past
which she'd glide. I felt for sure
as if I'd been here before, watching
the cabinet where the old ghost
apparition haunched. She is there,
so wide awake and teeming. I nod
my head, and she tickles my froth
by laughing. Back, back, and on
again. I cannot even truly remember
the year, for there often are none
really, and anyway it's all a blur.
Her white gauze dress, the way
the light clambers back and
around her, that old, cold smell
of clammy meat cooking. And that
is all. As such is my report, human,
as such is my report now back to you.
In walking past Zelda's nuthouse,
there were things I had to do :
park this unvalued car, slide past
the No Entry signs, enter the
downing hallway, the steps past
which she'd glide. I felt for sure
as if I'd been here before, watching
the cabinet where the old ghost
apparition haunched. She is there,
so wide awake and teeming. I nod
my head, and she tickles my froth
by laughing. Back, back, and on
again. I cannot even truly remember
the year, for there often are none
really, and anyway it's all a blur.
Her white gauze dress, the way
the light clambers back and
around her, that old, cold smell
of clammy meat cooking. And that
is all. As such is my report, human,
as such is my report now back to you.
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