Denver is haunted there,
thin air thick with spirits
blink of sleep joins
you the dead fiesta,
these horny ghosts
pass one another in
useless wispy rapture
moaning
in the airport
scampering amid
redeye flier's dreams
passed out back hall
splotchy carpet
under the wild red gaze
of the throbbing blue stallion,
or frozen in the crosswalks
of Aurora they appear
in the weary driver's
blink of sleep:
a mother and child
stepping out in the street.
Denver is haunted there
ghosts eddying in the
alpine mist.