the ghost in

the ghost in, the ghost
in, the ghost in the machine.
is it me, this human animal
or the ghost that is up
late typing? am i in
a fleshy skin prison?
a bit of slick substance.
unobservable and
immaterial wedged
in the back of my head
or deep warm hiding in
my intestines? like a
worm. and my hands and legs
are nothing but levers
and buttons. come out my
little ghost, let me see!