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A Dent

I felt the coasting of my shadow, as I walked on the lawn a midday stroll. To my townhouse from whence I left my shadow, before it came to me. That ghost don't have shadows, if they are me. Just a coat of ectoplasm, reaching to the knee and a vocabulary of, "Boo."

Then it dawned a sunrise, and I discovered I was a zombie with a dent. The kink was just a reflection where the bullet spent. Shot by a cop, as I was chasing cars, and looking for a shadow in a Mason Jar of hooch.   

 

 

 

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