ill-defined, all my outlandish
specifics exactish, I'll moan
"Enh" and "Enh" and "Enh"
again and mean it if you ask me
how I like the afterlife and/or
to haunt the house no more.
Through thread-bare air I'll drift
spectral—get this—present
absence intent on useful mischief:
wiping crumbs from counters,
cleaning windows, polishing
whatever precious metal
you possess to such a luster
my fuzzy reflection unnerves me.
When I'm Ghost, Floaty, Outline by Aaron Anstett | Poetry Reed Diffuser
Aaron Anstett's most recent books are *Late-Stage Everything* and *What Now,* a long poem. Lately he has been attempting haiku. He lives in Colorado with his wife.






