do ghosts have dementia?

By Harry Miller

becoming ethereal, transparent,
flickering in the brain rot, my ghosts

have no sense of time nor place

I watch them

gazing thru the cut sheet into another world 

down to the small shoe, the fading song 

sounding out, circling the ballroom

again and again

until the dance tiptoes on

only in another's memory

we too will repeat the dance, one

more half-step towards 

everything's end

becoming ghosts in the feedback loop.

- Harry Miller