The Ghost Steals Some Scotch

The apparition visits again.
The old man who drinks because 
he expects this visitation finds
the scotch drained out. Ha, ha.
The liquid light leads a dance 
holding three hands of the ceiling fan.
This evening his dead partner’s daughter 
called. This evening happened in another time.

“I may tell her the details.” He speaks.
The ghost cannot. He, of course, can be
anyone’s or anything. The ownership 
of the guilt is only the old man’s, and in
that business he has a million colliding 
partners whispering in a tight and blind space

.

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