Some evenings the air feels uneasy.
There is no wind, no crickets.
The familiar embrace of starlight stiff. Cold
as if it is speaking through cinder blocks
or not at all.
A warning that something is coming.
Something is tugging at the seams,
gnawing away a thread here,
a stitch there. Something is trying to get in,
you must go home at once.
Street light bathed windows
follow you like the wide plastic eyes of
Betty Boop clock
thick with cobwebs and the tented legs of
dead spiders.
You must go home at once,
something is trying to get in.
Hide. Hide. Hide!
There is no wind, no crickets.
The familiar embrace of starlight stiff. Cold
as if it is speaking through cinder blocks
or not at all.
A warning that something is coming.
Something is tugging at the seams,
gnawing away a thread here,
a stitch there. Something is trying to get in,
you must go home at once.
Street light bathed windows
follow you like the wide plastic eyes of
Betty Boop clock
thick with cobwebs and the tented legs of
dead spiders.
You must go home at once,
something is trying to get in.
Hide. Hide. Hide!
