letra de ghost - joanne robertson
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out on the board, you let the plane
poke down a sewer trap
vines, not a bird, dying
true type, you stand still
shoo, trap, you stand still in the noon
as the windows that glow in your toast
to get halfway out of sleep
cold days
play on the phone
try to
what keeps you so close
pray i do all
to get what i can share
of the people that don’t make it there
you ride a cold bed, lacking place
i don’t serve this anymore, anymore
t–th
your plaque
to grow
i got
prettiest thing
shame you had to leave
before the board trade past things
that you press out
of what you want to speak
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