in a good mood

i have
no midnight sweats
when the bed pillow is soft
and freshly laundered white sheets cover my head.
even in the dark
my flashbacks would not flash
and some dreams,
being ordinary,
come on like a childhood lullaby,
and that war was over, after all.
so,
in a good mood
when i was sleeping with somebody,
that God damn grief might not squeeze me by the throat
and ghosts, silently, one by one, might  make no noise
while floating by with bloodshot eyes, watching me.
i always try to get out of their way,
letting them speak,
to not interrupt them as they tell
each story as it should be told.
one walked colorless with a fine needle stuck in his swollen arm
as somber music played without rhythm,
and he tugged at the sharp stick and tried to make sense of his addiction.
another swallowed a live grenade and began to sing in a foreign tongue,
squatting as though to take a shit just as the explosion ripped away his ass.
and a third had no voice at all and kept looking at me with eyes out of register,
her lips moving in the candlelight, soundlessly.
and after they file out, and others join them, there is no comfort in my room.
then my mood becomes tight, like the taut strands of a hangman's noose.
in the morning mirror while brushing my teeth, i see yet another ghost.