Another ghost-day, eating ghost-cereal
and drinking ghost-soy milk (to keep me
ghostly white), a ghost drive to Marshall,
a trip back into the red brick mansion
nineteenth (ghost) century, Curt Johnson,
lung cancer, Harry Smith, congestive heart
failure, Lynne Savitt, both ovaries and uterous
out, me with returning prostate cancer, feeling
Handel and Vaughan Williams, Elgar and Richard
Strauss more real than my ghostly me in the
mirror of medical statistics that are already
buying me an urn for my (ghostly)
ashes.