trespassing in your boarded-up window haunting

if i don't believe in private property
do i have to let the ghosts in? there are so many lately.
i leave out a bowl of milk for them
on the stoop. when you weren't home for 
a week i wanted to do all the risky things
you won't let me do. climb over the fence.
visit the house in the corn fields with
its eye gouged out. slip past the seven
"no trespassing" signs into all those little portals.
around here, we leave a lot to rot. 
houses & corn corners & deer on the side
of the road. each of them, a haunted house.
ceiling ribs & my ghost-searching camera.
i tried to be good. sit on the sofa
& listen to crumbs. i am called to the bone 
places. find myself inside music boxes.
the ghosts, with their own feasts 
on a milky night. i sometimes open a door
in my own house & find the decapitated place.
worms & birds. i go inside. my house
is your house. your house is my skull.
i stopped telling people about my hallucinations
because it is easy to just say, "i am busy."
i am so busy if you know what i mean
though sometimes the mildew is real. sometimes
the mold is a pedestrian. when you come home
i will be disgraceful i am sorry. i am sitting
in your foyer playing with the not-dog.
i wasn't supposed to be in your house.
they want to build a money place here.
weeds grow. i name them like children. play
in their long hair. come on let's be ghosts
& own everything & nothing. let's shuck
your suitcases like clams. feed the coyotes
& the foxes. open all the doors & windows.
let all the ghosts in.