the table spans the entire graveyard,
and the folding chairs seat guests
of woodsmoke and monoxide poisoning.
it’s an evening of promises to catch up
and empty plates of sweet words flavored gray
(a ghost’s favorite food).
there are too many snipped threads to weave
a gathering. blocked and ignored
calls gnawed through the telephone wires
like rocks through windows. the party is
winding down before it even starts
(as ghosts don’t make good conversation).
the courses are catered like flowers
at a funeral. afterthoughts in the
aching. the guests are long gone
stars. nothing but dead light attends.
the host is still here, chained to their chair
(enjoying dinner with haunted constellations).
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