This Town is Full of Ghosts

spitting rain and misting
rising steam in piles heaping
the side of the road is full and dangerous.

angel's wings and blacker things
set me on fire
walk away not in pity
sharp, to the point,
salacious, serrated.
oxidation.

driving through ghosts to get here
standing alone at the top of the hill
swinging, missing, bleeding out
red soil.
they scream and scream and gently tug
tracing lines in the wet and leaf-littered ground.
i get smaller everyday.

i smell them, i taste them
i hear them in my skin
telling me what i know i know
i cannot fight them

yellow ribbons tied tight around the whipping posts
this town is full of ghosts.