So what if a man builds ghosts
into his house or hotel. Water
in the walls, in the seafoam green

tub. He builds it only to haunt
the mountains, that were
already haunted. The woods that

were already teeming with blood
and anger.  You put the ghost
in the house,  in the room,

in the body, and let it rattle
the chandeliers for awhile.
Let it knock books off the shelf

and slit its pretty wrist against
the gleaming tile. We're Americans,
it's how we do.  Later, we'll drink

bourbon and ruin the carpets.
We'll blame the ghost that were
already here, but when we leave,

take our fury with us, tuck
her into bed in safe suburban houses.
Roll her into heels and cotton shifts

and pretend she's our wife while
the corpse goes black in the bathwater
we ran and left running for days.

(a sneak peek of the new series based on THE SHINING)

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