CASPER
THE FRIENDLY GHOST
Live as if you were already dead.
I. About the Dead Man and Vertigo
The dead man skipped stones till his arm gave out.
He showed up early to the games and stayed late, he played with
abandon, he felt the unease in results.
His medicine is movement, the dead man alters cause and
consequence.
The dead man shatters giddy wisdoms as if he were punching
his pillow.
Now it comes round again, the time to rise and cook up a day.
Time to break out of one's dream shell, and here's weather.
Time to unmask the clock face.
He can feel a tremor of fresh sunlight, warm and warmer.
The first symptom was, having crossed a high bridge, he found he
could not go back.
The second, on the hotel's thirtieth floor he peeked from the
balcony and knew falling.
It was ultimate candor, it was the body's lingo, it was low tide in
his inner ear.
The third was when he looked to the constellations and
grew woozy.
2. More About the Dead Man and Vertigo
It wasn't bad, the new carefulness.
It was a fraction of his lifetime, after all, a shard of what he knew.
He scaled back, he dialed down, he walked more on the flats.
The dead man adjusts, he favors his good leg, he squints his best
eye to see farther.
No longer does he look down from the heights, it's simple.
He knows it's not a cinder in his eye, it just feels like it.
He remembers himself at the edge of a clam boat, working
the fork.
He loves to compress the past, the good times are still at hand.
Even now, he will play catch till his whole shoulder gives out.
His happiness has been a whirl, it continues, it is dizzying.
He has to keep his feet on the ground, is all.
He has to watch the sun and moon from underneath, is all.
I. About the Dead Man and Vertigo
The dead man skipped stones till his arm gave out.
He showed up early to the games and stayed late, he played with
abandon, he felt the unease in results.
His medicine is movement, the dead man alters cause and
consequence.
The dead man shatters giddy wisdoms as if he were punching
his pillow.
Now it comes round again, the time to rise and cook up a day.
Time to break out of one's dream shell, and here's weather.
Time to unmask the clock face.
He can feel a tremor of fresh sunlight, warm and warmer.
The first symptom was, having crossed a high bridge, he found he
could not go back.
The second, on the hotel's thirtieth floor he peeked from the
balcony and knew falling.
It was ultimate candor, it was the body's lingo, it was low tide in
his inner ear.
The third was when he looked to the constellations and
grew woozy.
2. More About the Dead Man and Vertigo
It wasn't bad, the new carefulness.
It was a fraction of his lifetime, after all, a shard of what he knew.
He scaled back, he dialed down, he walked more on the flats.
The dead man adjusts, he favors his good leg, he squints his best
eye to see farther.
No longer does he look down from the heights, it's simple.
He knows it's not a cinder in his eye, it just feels like it.
He remembers himself at the edge of a clam boat, working
the fork.
He loves to compress the past, the good times are still at hand.
Even now, he will play catch till his whole shoulder gives out.
His happiness has been a whirl, it continues, it is dizzying.
He has to keep his feet on the ground, is all.
He has to watch the sun and moon from underneath, is all.