Ghost Driver I let a ghost drive my body last night. Let it peer over my steering wheel. It drove me to the disco, made shapes with my body that it wasn't supposed to make. It reversed me into line, fishtailed through the mall, donutted around the cinema and crashed me into the river. There, it drown me in the weir pool, the brown sludge settling in my lungs. Now, I'm the ghost, and I'm hitching for a ride home.
The Globe Theatre burnt to the ground, today in 1613.
Steve Ditko, American comic book artist, died today in 2018.
Poetry 365 