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
Added by Poetry Lover
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