Divested Dead Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

I saw a dead man.
Woke up, pitch-black,2am,
See-through man perched on my bed.
See-through man with no clothes on.
I spoke to a dead man too,
After I'd screamed a bit
And thrown a book through him.
He confided clothes don't have a soul,
So spirits are always as the day they were born.
A good test of a true medium.
Now he follows me everywhere,
And I see hundreds;
Unclothed soldiers swinging down the road,
Slighted deceased on the common, duelling
In the buff with pointed fingers,
Unfettered footballers dribbling air in the park,
Naked hitch-hikers,
Strollers in the raw popping through walls,
Voluptuous nuns and strapping monks praying.
Old, young, maimed whole.
Things I wince or twitch or blush at.
I really really do not want to die.