Saturday, 13 October 2012

Books and Dead Men

My two loves are books and dead men
Especially when they bite.
Incisive, they feed off me
And I them
An orgy of ghosts who visit by night.

Friendly faces long since reduced to dust
live once more in me while I breathe,
A rotten bunch in whom I trust
For none of them give me cause to grieve.

Though energetic exchanges occur just the same
In the nether worlds of my fevered brain
And just for a moment I manage a kiss
With a congenial spectre across the abyss

Rarer still a switch flicks in my head
And my bedroom filled with the long since dead.
When this happens I invite the shade I like best
To be a good incubus and sit on my chest

But displease me and I'm afraid it's goodbye
Before I'm sucked dry, by psychic succubi.
Though summoning the dead is a perilous feat
I prefer it to reading the modern elite.

This is the result of self-reflection
Occurring at once in all directions.
With them looking forward and I looking back
Stabbed through my Omega point
By a spiritual tack,
Remember, remember the wise Rebbe said.
Just not too hard lest you wake the dead!

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