Blues for Drowning with Ghosts

by Tobi Alfier

I've heard about you—

they say your rivers are cold,

they sound brushy and bold

as they flow over stones,

sound like the drums

in a circle howling

at the moon.



I am traditional, old-school.

You think you wear hemp

and that makes you cool,

sexy, like a bonfire

sparking up to the constellations

but I’m here to tell you,

you’re a sweet nobody.



Yes, you’re a handsome bloke—

most women might weep

at the thought of losing you,

but you’re a storm well spent,

leaving washed-out blue

you have nothing to give anyone

my fluttering candle,



my megawatt winter.

You’re captive to a plot

you don’t even know,

the ice that hangs on every

barren winter limb.

You’re a shoreline filled with fog,

drowning with ghosts.