Boo rustles the lace curtains. They sometimes move to the slightest¬¬ dance of the wind. The white shade slides them gently some nights A moonlit soft skritching of plastic O-rings On the brass bar as he peeks out. The outside drowns his words. A blank eye longs for the day while his Shuttered windows whisper a breathy wail. A hail of silent words secreted in trained night-clown smiles. The streets deny it.
He hears the truth tap at his walls, It drives a pince-nez melody in his darkened cell, A rhythm wailing in noon darkness. His darkling thoughts push the delete button, Push them away like buzzing flies Where she lies famished in her casket Sere, sullen creature drained. Yet another shallow shade of existence. Emily’s world where did, did not happen—
Behind the nailed-shut doors Truths pranced once in verdant forests.
Deny them exit, they screamed. Keep them safe in their hidey-holes. Wrap them in the black ink of dashed hopes. With unspoken words –
Not here, Where spirits, their spirits whimper.
Not here,
Secreted behind the drapes, Boo moans Caresses his chalky skin, Behind the windows And behind the sealed doors Wrapped in an airless tomb with Emily, In a secret- secured world beyond their grasp.