Re-Incarnation

Evicted, the ghost

has got to go somewhere,
when this rattletrap rattles last.
I will build

a new body.
It will be blue.
I think it will rise

two, no, ten, no, a hundred stories high.
It must have a forest, a dark,
dark forest, near a lake.
No more windscraped and barren
than the blight outside,

its badlands
will be peopled by monsters,
but the cities will be silver
and bright. In my chest,

I would like a vast open sea.
(Lower down, of course,
volcano!)
My numberless arms and legs will reach

everywhere, touch everything.
These eyes

will see.
This mouth
will savor.
The head will be

a sun, so blazing,


a sun.