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Spirits in The Material World
I make time for the dead.
They only speak
when there’s something worth saying.
They are so clever,
only appear
when no one else is watching.
And they know what they’re doing.
If you mention them too much,
you’ll end up in the back of a van,
shipped off to what passes
for an asylum these days, where you’ll supper
on buttered toast and lithium.
But it’s not funny
when they come at you through song,
and you have company
and have to explain to friends
why you cry into your hummus
or peel into a laugh.
And unlike the living,
they are never boring.
They can morph
from clouds or stars
and only you can pick them out.
Aren’t they extraordinary?
Only fools say
When you’re dead, you’re dead,
and I pity the fools.
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