at Old Adelaide Gaol
The tour begins, just two of us as the pink woolwash sky
drains away. The scream of the flight-path, bleak shadows
burst over the razor-wire snap of walls.
He says he has a way with ghosts, a way of pissing them off.
He begins the night defining his terms, warning the poet
of language—the word ghost is like God
you'll be asked to prove it, everything loaded with
interpretation. See, I believe in ghosts but I don't say that.
There are two different types of hauntings.
The first is residual, a past event, stuck on repetitive loop.
Call it imprint or playback. I call it, residual, a buzz word
at the moment. Intelligent, is when a Spirit responds
directly to your presence. Which seems to happen to me.
I take too many photos, I have a way of pissing them off.
(Residual, a past event, stuck on repetitive loop.)
Most sightings in here occur after twelve, you're all mine until
then. You know I've begun writing a book as well.
(My sentence being written.)