Too many ghosts

Too many ghosts

Jibber jabber

The older you get

The drunker.

The brain is a sponge

Too much exposure

Bleaches it.

Like the Great Barrier Reef

It is a protected environment

But the ghosts

Cheap booze

And jibber-jabber

Render it down

To fatty acid

And ectoplasm

Which will melt away

Gradually

In the heat of the day.

The mind cleared

Of yesterday

But for jibber-jabber.

The chitter-chatter of

Out-of-body experience

Imaginary conversation

Modulating communication

Between consenting adults.

There is no internal

Conversion

Just a gradual erosion

An everyday process

A degenerating progress

Toward an extinction event.

A black hole sun

At the centre of

The jibber-jabber

Where the sense of self

Is stronger

Than the chitter-chatter

Of a disorganised whole

A broken gestalt

As the jibber-jabber

Disappears

Into absence

And the nonsense of the abysmal