Odds and Ends
by DAVID BROCK
GHOSTS of the dead haunt single places
And on one object turn sad faces,
But live ghosts, infinitely split,
On many beats at once can flit.
With half a hundred towns and friends
And houses I’ve left odds and ends
Of ghost behind me, each a tatter
Of ragged immaterial matter.
And on one object turn sad faces,
But live ghosts, infinitely split,
On many beats at once can flit.
With half a hundred towns and friends
And houses I’ve left odds and ends
Of ghost behind me, each a tatter
Of ragged immaterial matter.
How much remainder have I got?
And will God resurrect the lot
With angels on a paper-chase
Picking me up from every place,
Or leave each part where it may be
And call the unmortgaged fraction ME?
And will God resurrect the lot
With angels on a paper-chase
Picking me up from every place,
Or leave each part where it may be
And call the unmortgaged fraction ME?