8000
A Penn Valley phantom doth lurk, when his youngest daughter and I
pledged our troth breeds and festers hallucinations
that make me go berserk
visitations with ethereal sprite
push me to madness amidst mire and murk
rattle of chains heard despite
noiseless apparition and wraith, which curse and bain
from dark and sinister shadows make me feel like a jerk
imaginative creations ranked as inane
by this skeptic whose vulnerable acuteness
especially during wee hours of morning
when superstition runs amuck and seems to gain
control thought of afterlife quirk
re: on account of social (generalized anxiety) as thy emotional torque
yet confession must be made that ghost
of long dead father of wife does wag finger of disdain
and utter silent disapproval and near ruination
by marrying a bum of a guy who lacks for work.
