nightmare
in evening suburbia,
a piss-stained moon huddles overhead like a cautious mother
to guide rows & rows of carbon copy homes.
the moon’s glare stains the sky unsettling hues,
the air is like a blanket of bristles.
i am on the street, dry calloused soles
brush chrome cement.
i let my ponytail fall free, and feel hidden, pounding
streams of eyes, i’m uneasy like the moon.
as i pass an empty lot, the lot that is animated
with a rainbow of ripe fruits
on Saturday’s market, now grey and aching.
a soft murmur grows, closer,
i half-expect a wild fox to pass by,
but see Ania’s forested Suburu swarm
in to scoop me, her window lowers and i see her eyes,
held wide with fear settled in the irises, as if piranhas are secretly
gnawing her legs there, its not funny.
come quick, she squeals at me as I jump inside
onto the milky mildew upholstery, she
never stops driving,
(omit?: we are escaping some sort of madness.)
back on the street, a man expands, shapes
into a monstrous teradacytl like an Anamorphics novel
he chases us, I feel his pull from behind,
inside a dark matter,
as he rides atop a pickup truck and I am
latched to the back of the Suburu, surrendering.
the beast sprays this magical mist that
makes me feel like melting, like after a hit of a heavy opiate,
that sweet, dark, ethereal pull,
like a lovestruck teen on an apathy ride,
i become a useless solider.
the next scene happens in the kitchen of an uninfected family,
their pink lips warn us of grandmothers that wander into homes
with five-dollar bills, they ask you to take them to the theater--
but if you even gently caress the bill, they will become monstrous,
their white hair dissipating into scaly skin, the demonic eyes
won’t leave your memory.
they are innocent masks, similar to the stray streetcats
who shift shapes, turn
to bloodthirsty pedestrians.
perhaps suburban semen birth tiny monsters:
the after-effects of the danger, the distortion of
finding comfort in apathy.