#rattlebone

You brood, walk through the graveyard night after

futile night --- calling on ghosts to love you

but you forget yourself. You're no lover,

no tramp, no paramour. You misconstrue

signs. You make a cheapjack witch. Your love craft

is not love at all; it's pure want. It's need

gone all rough and unfulfilled. You have laughed

at your loveless life. If ghosts feed on greed

then you could screw a crew with the longing

inside you. But now you don't laugh. The dead

have no use for you, just like the living ---

Graveyard empty. You hunger. Love unfed.

Deprived. Depraved. Wolfish. Delirious