Spector.
A haunted route through
California.
Torn and missing the man
Who had been her world
Main Character is constantly seizing
And when she is finally freed
She never gets further than looking
At magazines and turning on the radio
She never gets further then writing
Good bye letters and going to funerals

When will action strike her?
Propel her into crime solving,
Spirit crossing or even just crying?
Can her creator channel miss Alcott
Bring them to the Abbey
Where mystery can encase them?

A reader sighing over 19th century
Craft will find the Pennsylvania author
Quite capital
This moment while plunging back in time
I find myself awakened and hopeful
Find Main Character in the thralls
Of times forgotten by most of the newsstand.

We landed with two feet.
I held Louisa’s hand in my left and MC’s
Tightly in my right.
We imagined sitting down together
Finally rendering a polished and succinct centre
And orchestrating unfathomed
Nobel Resolutions!

I ought to acquire to type
With both my hands occupied
For to ever get this done I cannot let go
Of either.