honeydunce

If your ghost
says hello
one more time

if the night slips
another switch
of onion grass
into the shocked expression
of a button
gone missing

if the houses
have something important to say
then
tell them
to stop mumbling so much.

i am unanimously tired, the kind of
worn
you can see through
i am standing
in the little finger’s ink smudge blue
a sort of thing
that only happens
when there is a page
pen
and your hand
is really flying—