Mired in ghosts.
Base of the spine a ghost.
Women comb and mumble in code
barricaded behind a petition of ghosts.
Asleep in a birdcage in a jazz-age hotel
turned veteran hospital—at ease, ghost.
Bitter jawbones and rope
in a tangle. Evidence ghosts.
Women convinced to float, the canal
a cradle, the heron a ghost.
At Galpo Nueve, a silk trapeze drifts
above strobes. Dancers drop ghosts.
Wear your most muscular smile. Don’t say
goodbye as you leave the party. Just ghost.