Electrocuted Angels

I live in a haunted house. I haunt it. I have a                   Ghosts of the past are unreal things
spare penny coin. I flaunt it. And I'm undaunted              we create
by the murderer I share my abode with, spying
on me. I climb out of a keyhole and watch the                Small keyholes carry lots
ceiling fall down on me. I'm feeling that
electrocuted angels are all I ever see. Time                     Electrocution knows no elocution

Is an established stone. I baulk at the heaviness              Heaviness we want to be lite on
of bone and die or I diet. Calories of a sigh. To
be slimly invisible I try. Now I weigh less than               Shadows are as brite as we feel
a shadow, now I am fatter than blossom the
bough cannot hold. This story already                             What's told should be good
has been told. The carpet before unrolled.                         for the telling

Let the Little Book be unscrolled. And let there
be dark. Bring on the earthquake. Shut out the spark.     Earthquakes don't keep appointments
Cut out the electrocuted angels like paper doll
wan washing lines. Bring together rapture of                  Washing lines are comparatively unclean
all of the signs. To the blooded hands I myself
resign. Stigmata for Pentecost my gift. Through              Gifts are in the giving
the chaff forever for one gold wheat sheaf sift.