You’ve exhumed my ghost.
Sifted through dust,
so here is the temple of
what I’ve become.
Sheared of wool, and I’m some whitewashed
thing turned, bleached, sanded,
Well at least I’m not red-faced.
Nor plump, nor hankering,
nor wavering. But I still do
have a mouth.
And I lie. Here I go, teeth biting into
banana fritters. Sneer all you like.
Prompt: There’s this quote I read: “There will come a time when you believe everything is finished.///That will be the beginning.” Louis L ‘ amour said it. I’ve no idea who he is and I am not about to find out. Instead I’ll ask you to write a poem inspired by his quote. Alright? Alright.