White ghosts are smoke signals
floating around in dreams at night.
Read them on social media walls
in text messages, for signs
warning each of us of apocalypses
come soon.
The knock on the door
late in the morning wakes us
shaking from dreams.
Answer the door.
It's the white ghost insurance agent
selling health, casualty, term life;
and, off shore convertible bonds
sold as war bonds to benefit congresses
and corporate lobbyists,
leaving reparation coupons
and labor capital income withheld.
GRACE... announces
no share of memory;
wash of internal console controls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
GRACE... memory gaps and conscience naps... Nadirs 400 year naps here and there