The old neighborhood is a labyrinth
Of second-story windows, lamplight and
Distant smells of pencils and dryer sheets
Of a Sunday dinner that never ends

Late autumn air does not so much assail
As brush past like a stranger
Mumbling something like a sorry

In short, longing
Longing that pervades and longing that wanes
Longing for others and longing for self
Longing for answers, longing for questions
Longing droplets fall dancing down liminal panes

On darkest nights, when full moons preside
Silver bullets are just the thing
When the howls are coming from inside
Silence with silver, gunshot ring

Gold grows tarnished and fractured, such fragile prizes
And bronze knights are forgotten soon as the sun rises
Leave nothing to mock, nothing to pilfer
Paint the walls cerebral and silver

Nothing invokes fear
Quite like footsteps approaching
And footsteps passing

I don't want to die
A ghost is an echo
I want to be the opposite
Shout through me

Can I leave my eyes here?
To see but not be seen?
I dream of dispersal
A trillion motes of
Every place there's ever been
Everywhere at once

No walls to see through
No body, no mind, no stride
Transcendence of senses
To fade into the blue
To know every side
To know and nothing else

The keyboard on which I type has built
A layer of gunk, finger oils, and
What have you

My houses are formed of chicken scratch
Wooden board, then - nail, another board, it's
Just practice

A Hallmark life and coffee spoon lines
Too chicken to scratch - an itch, the surface,
Toothless skin

So maybe just maybe, peel yourself up from the world
Claw the sensation away wherever it comes
For ****** mere moments, let yourself become unfurled