Habeas Corpus: In which I Demand my Father's Body

An image of a person's silhouette in an alley, ghostlike and somewhat transparent.

airtight, movement as adjourned by wind states that

motion beings are impermeable dead weights.

at third reading, intimate ghosts becomes parts of our speech.

many in wood alphabets: as names of any person, habitat/place or jinn.

the rest as pronoun, used instead for harm— in ways that injures itself.

first reading moves the notion that at fair hearing,

in God's creation without a work permit,

man is mud in motion & tomb at sleep.

all men are wired for rest.

second reading affirms, should a soul miss its route to time-travel at bed,

it becomes a felony (say the consequence feels slightly like aging, in custody of a

charmed space).

grey breathing mud, dismantling empathy in vows to power a disappearance.

In redress of third reading, private ghosts often drifts like treason:

raw force, aiming at the betrayal of a loved one.

somewhere, a bench of ghost concludes:

"no inanimate relative should answer for how we scratch the surface of our grief."

since the clawing of a new death,

we all have been arraigning the same ghost.

his body— trayed loudly like an exhibit.


Sophia. N. Ashley (she/they) are writers of poetry. They are International underrepresented voices. They have works previously published in NativeSkin lit Magazine, The Quills Journal Nine, Stonecrop Review & elsewhere. They are the author of "Dumb Mandate"(unpublished). On Instagram, they are @sophiaashley631.