(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)


Some ghosts are women,
neither abstract nor pale,
their breasts as limp as killed fish.
Not witches, but ghosts
who come, moving their useless arms
like forsaken servants.

Not all ghosts are women,
I have seen others;
fat, white-bellied men,
wearing their genitals like old rags.
Not devils, but ghosts.
This one thumps barefoot, lurching
above my bed.

But that isn't all.
Some ghosts are children.
Not angels, but ghosts;
curling like pink tea cups
on any pillow, or kicking,
showing their innocent bottoms, wailing
for Lucifer.

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Comments (6)

I've seen a few who aren't ghosts but look like ghost. Thanks for sharing this poem with us. Chandan
I don't know whether ghosts exist or not but enjoyed the poem. Thanks for posting.
I have seen others! ! Thanks for sharing.
Ghosts are unsatisfied souls often enter to human bodies. A stunning expression has been made on ghosts. Beautiful poem.
This can well be a part of some psycho-analytical study. It provides so much to think over. Thanks for sharing.
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