A Ghost

A Ghost

So I walked down a moon lit street,

Down where a chilly sun retreats.

By a wretched window I saw a host,

With whom I sit, a burning ghost.

Dried-out venations contrive

phrases of concurrency

Unparalleled, but uncrossing life

of blindfolded crawling Jesus Christ

For whom, the ghost kneel and weep?

A god of gloaming death only.

Half a year through a shallow crack,

Only timid croak repeats.