Welcome to notes from a ghost:
A series of past writings, forgotten about in my notes app.
Where I share what was once inside my head, one silly little archived note at a time.
This is a poem I wrote in feb 2017.
That which we call god is only alien, not the planetary kind. But I remember back in Catholic School, they told us evolution and fossils were created by the devil, and the boys would stand at the edge of the playground, near the broken fence, watching women walk away from the strip club across the street Once Upon a Time providence did not seem so far or so far-fetched, but now 3000 miles separate desperation from sunburns and mint mini skirts. The earth seemed endless, then. We are holographic stoplights, never turning green, blinking to the beat of uncertainty, holding out for prophetic dreams. We are orphaned children, reciting the Lord’s prayer before being tucked into wrinkled sheets waiting to hear the angels sing. Our hands are nothing more than doves that cannot fly, that will not fly.
*I grew up in cocoa beach, where the local Catholic school really is directly across the street from a strip club. The strip club was named in the epstein files as a known hangout for Epstein and his buddies.
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