p h a n t a s m

Who is the ghost?
Who are the living?
Why do we take the density
so seriously?
If things aren't real
But real is only a thing
What is illuminated?
A reel?
A moving picture show
Of unreal things?
I think on my ghost
And ask why do you live for me?
What is there inside the dying of me?
Is it everything 
Unreal
Unseen
Behind being
A no-thing-ness
A form-less-ness
Never born
​Never dying
Never being?
Like the space
between my unparted lips 
Open
And vibrate me 
Into ex-is-tense
Where time is laid upon
My no-thing-ness
Respire
Heat me with each breath
Ignite me
Into being
Spiraling into the fire
Out of a native dark-ness
Re-member me
In reality
In this fantastic phantasm
Of being