Just One

You are a long time dead son.
That is what my grandad used to say
and my mother too.
Now my mother says very little
and my grandad has been dead a very long time.
And my dreams are filled with strangeness.
 
I am back to writing with pen and paper and borrowing other people's computers.
I killed my computer, 
I killed it with my words.
It is almost as if something is trying to stop me from writing.
But here,
they still are.
The words.
 
Ginsberg said that he just recorded the words
that went through his head.
Almost like, they were not his.
I understand what he means.
The thoughts do not come from here
and i am not sure, if they have a place here anymore.
It is, a different time now.
 
 
 
I walk amongst people
as if i were a ghost.
Maybe i am already dead.
A long time dead.