Maybe you and I
are hungry ghosts
bouncing around this blue swirl
sphere we call Earth.

Tongues ready to go.
Eyes that won’t blink.

You did die. That’s a fact.
Did I die too

when I collapsed
in the Roadhouse,
when a drunken angel caught me
as I spilled onto the floor.

When I put down
the third glass of I
can’t remember the name
of the wine now. Mid-sip.

When I dashed out of the pub
trying to outrun
the perpetual loop
banging in my ears.

When my father slipped
into the forever lift of clouds
he needed after no longer being
able to tell anyone what he saw.

When I couldn’t follow him
down the road anymore.

There’s a beach that rolls
over itself to get to the lip
of a wave. Words going in reverse
about to be eaten.