This whisper, better than the real thing

a lie better than its truth

for the fears of the human mind

manipulate to soothe

the inevitable soft revelation

- the origin falls short.

A version of our own must then

decisively sort

the unwanted from the wanted,

the present thus twice killed

broken down in parts, that

new whispers may in their stead live.

Our fabricated ghosts

to fill the now vacant lots,

a private garden graveyard

with one too many flower pots.