Ghosts Hungry Looks Upon a Black Gold Sax Player

Impetuous ghosts, I wonder if you muse on violence for all our nuanced complexities, our mind-bending brilliance that you consciously and savagely attempt to suck us dry of gems—like marrow from a leg bone; listen on ghost gals and ghosts fellows—thou will never own our Black gold essence—y’all will never fully grasp our golden myriad soulful souls.