The True Ghosts

There are certain people who make it hard to tell if they really exist or are just leftover impressions of grandfather’s rapping spiritualism turn your head and they disappear like Lucy in your mind when they speak their delicate words are broken china inconsequential in the grand design they have names that halt crusty in the mouth they have styles easily forgotten like beige slacks, blue polos, they’ve nothing to say that hasn’t been said before yet they live on feeding off the energy of generations past they could be statues you’d never really know if Michelangelo or Bernini was that marble’s master how can these cicada shells be accepted when the buffalo are not? being hollow was always better than being hairy compared to them I must be mad having such pesky emotion that I glare at every eye I meet sometimes I’m convinced they were never there certain people just don’t exist