brushing my imaginary hair

i don't think i want to conjure my hair again
but she was a good family to me when the world 
lived only on a screen. i call that year the great plug.
i saw a ghost go in & out of a power outlet each night.
is it common for curtains to catch on fire? we have gas heat.
a boiler. i wake up in the night to make sure nothing is on fire.
my hair used to tell stories. my hair used to
pick out dresses & try to eat them. for a month
in the hurried summer, i let a bird nest in my hair.
she had to find a new home. i try to soothe. hush follicles. 
restless ball point pens. endless noctural neighbors.
here we are, lush & unseeable. here i am, the ghost. 

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