Ghost Writer (edit.)

Ghost Writer

You look out through the window:
a glass, a sea, a mirror
reflecting coffee smokes
out from a cup
and a vision of a man with
hardened face and with much
hardened stare.

This is the window
where they change your name.

You write another stroke on the white,
a story where they change your name:
a line, a life, a poem.
What is your first word?
Will it end with a simple dot
or another loopy question mark?
Is that a coffee stain you will
leave behind, or tear marks
for the blue lines?

Sipping the air for the last cup,
a world, a sea, as deep as your stare
onto the piece of paper lined with
cigarette burns and creases,
counting loops and slashes
where spaces should be plated.
Holes emancipate you
through your face on the window
that served as your prison,
a face is filled
with singing pricks.

You are silenced but your name sings.

For this is the face
where they cannot touch your name.