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The Past's Hovering Foot Steps
An unpleasant effluvia hangs
In the stale and unmoving air
As your haunted heart loudly bangs
Into the silence, a clanging blare.
It pumps: tapping, pittering
Unlike the feet of Fred Astaire.
No ritz, just beats and blunderings
Fumbled from this: your dancing ghost.
Its transparent maneuverings
Don't disappear, though they almost
Remain long enough to repeat,
To echo back with a swift riposte.
Waltzing reverb shoe prints secrete
An ectoplasmic residue,
A souring of things that seemed sweet,
The past's hovering steps press you.
An unpleasant effluvia hangs,
An ectoplasmic residue,
As your haunted heart loudly bangs.
poem
by
Tim Stensloff
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