by Ira Lightman


We weird wereghosts whatever we wanted
were were were.
Wednesday week were.
Wet weather weeks we were.
Were what? Were.

We werewolf-phantom hybrids whether wishing it
waved. Wanted
to behave?
Or wrested wrists from handcuffs

that now wouldn’t fit
our air,  and cloth-flesh
empathetic as a brother
at random
and distance ruffled rough or light.

We were when werewraiths wound woe
weight-abandoned, wafted wondering
and wandering, wisecracking
were when we woke.
O o when we woke

forgetting our dreams and day-detail of last
years, we accidents involuntary
wailed. We remembered
non-limb from non
the aftermaths of hems underbreathing.

When the white mad moon
mountaineered last moonth
weee weeere, aaagaiaiain aaare,
looove waaas. Iiis.
When was the door slam, am?


Ira Lightman

Wereghosting by Ira Lightman first appeared in Issue 2 of Bare Fiction Magazine (April 2014).

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