There’s a Ghost in my head, although
I don’t know his name. He tells me
Things I don’t really want to know,
Like how to tap-dance,
And how to
Scry
With Human Minds
Like the parasitic tapeworm.

He takes away the lonely bottle
And peels this old caterpillar
Into a Firefly, but
He doesn’t believe me when I say
That I think better when
Wing-less.