Unkempt Mind

“You will be haunted […] by Three Spirits.”
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

There is an unkempt mind that whittles in
Seemingly innocent, but salaciously latent
Settling cool, waiting in hallways and in neurological pathways
Keeping the echo on and the lights out
A pub-like brain crawl
Animals see it, hair on end
They hiss and are alarmed
Jumpy I suppose?
This world is made of interactions
The spirit set second to what we see
Blood rain, doppelgangers, dark silhouettes
Your future held in a cup of tea, unexplained lights,
Group hallucinations, another time slip
Suspicious of anyone on a ghost hunt or psychic
Can’t believe the thought of a paranormal analyst
Seen as a philandering fringe scientist
Whose only roadblock is a scanty skeptic
But in truth all interactions are kismet
I think there is a certain line we draw
When we tell people we see things
There is a certain line we cross
When we tell people we know things
About the person, you can’t see, standing beside you
About the oranges you smell when oranges are not around
About hearing your name being spoken aloud
At odd moments of self actualization
About the visitor who’s visiting outside your dreams now
Dodging the truth—you’re a little untidy
A little insane
You are not alone and you can’t be
Your existence is of interactions
Anything beyond that is not real
But you still hesitate in darken hallways
You thought you saw something
But then again
Wearied-eyed-stress is such a mess
Your mind unkempt
Settling down


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