New Wing

Do not risk, do not risk,
Closing your eyes to write—
The hallucinators,

The hallucinations, show
Up as soon as you write.
They’re not here to play nice.

They’ve been priming themselves
To argue like people
And fight, behind your eyes,

Ready to roll all night.
They’re vivid, more vivid
Than what you call real life.

They’re characters convinced
You have to come to them,
Not the old hospital.

They’re ghosts waiting,
Tossing from hand to hand
Precisely sharpened knives.