my mistake, i brought the soul in my sweaters
a few spirits and he was courteous enough
to free me of my trappings. we discussed the tastelessness of gin
splashing our intangible abdomens,
how there is not much to do in death
and life but howl at the heavens, and the chore
of levitating pianos. he animated my wellingtons for kicks
and we admired my body wrapped in warm sheets.
soon amassed a littered mob of specters, and they haggled
over myself, cursing each other like witches on a pyre,
covetous of my fingerprints. “Don’t,” i pleaded but their wan
figures snaked up my ankles and lashed at my chest
“Are you sure?” said pallid Tantalus, “Hysteria suits you.”

Anastasia Chew is an eighteen year old vagabond who has completed several halves of novels and often forgets to eat. Despite these non-accomplishments, a jazz ensemble serenades her every morning en route to the subway.