In the vastness
of the drafty
slat wooden
house,

along the tidal
lettered
streets
of Gearhart;

Snapping images
with waning
filtered light
inside the darkness,

waiting for ghosts
to drift out of
the
shadows,

wondering if my
family's past
have to wait in line
behind
the house spirits
to announce themselves;

Asking us why
we almost
always keep a light
on

In time,
will I leave
a small energy
stamp
after I cross,
ghosting
it out
inside
degrading buildings
after waiting in line

questioning
why
the living
worry so much
and live
so little

dark’s peering into day,
wonder when the dew’ll lay;
time’s slowed as skies turn static,
least the hours are less erratic.
orange lamps glow
outside a misted window;
earthy rain’s falling hard
but fire’s lit and sky is starred.
sometimes mist deceives the eyes:
seen silent figures’ quick demise.
ocean spits over the pier,
almost as grey as the Wear;
lighthouse shines it’s steely beam,
illuminating the horizon’s seam.
heaven’s sealed with wrought dull iron,
far away seems unearthly Zion;
harvest moon’s not as vague:
illuminating an eight-legged plague.
crows spectate above and below,
you’d be surprised what they know;
change leers at every bend,
nostalgia seems an only friend.
the veil is thinner than before,
perhaps open is another door;
harvest season’s coming to an end,
fields of Elysium this way wend.

With plastic crown atop his head
and draped in splendid royal red,

he arched his back and struck a pose
to loud applause from costume rows:

the pilgrims bowed and paid respects,
all masks and hats his new subjects,

the ghouls and ghosts saluted too,
and, standing tall, he liked the view.

When spinning 'round to win more cheers
from Mother who must be in tears

to see her son no longer small–
but as a lord, a god, of all,

he found that he was there alone
and where she'd gone he did not know.

Forgetting all his lofty dreams,
he felt unraveled at the seams–

the costumes then all came alive,
with teeth and blood and crazy eyes.

The king who once was lord of all,
lay crying, sobbing, feeling small.

A hand then pressed upon his back–
his mom had found the royal rack,

and wiping tears from burning eyes,
he wished he'd trusted his disguise.

Her voice trembled under unsettling cold
breath hitched at starless dusk,
an ocean of black ink
drowning the moon's marvelous magic

Footsteps echoed her own
a balancing act in the dark
playing with unwritten spellwork
scattered in her shaken eyes

She wasn't afraid of what lurked
Beneath the running seas and crashing shores
the orbs that followed her
all but left to her cryptid-tale

Jason had this penthouse apartment that was centrally located in Beverly Hills.

He was incredibly clean, but in an overwhelming kind of way.

The carpet and stuff were spotless, the cabinets were plastic, and the paint was not chipping. I felt like I was in a Doctor’s office waiting room.

He was snoring loudly, and just at the right moment he opened his eyes.

"Ha! You are dead! This is a dream, right?"

I felt a bit offended, as I was obviously the one snoring.

"No, no!"  He pointed at the clock. "It's 4AM!" (Lucky number 8!).

"You're a zombie! You're dead and you're dreaming!”

“I’m a zombie, alright!" I yawned and started to hack up zombie gore.

"Watch out!" He screamed and jumped out of the bed.

"All right, you monster! I'm dead and I'm dreaming! I'm dead and I'm dreaming!"

He chased me around the room.

"You're not dead, you're a zombie! You're a zombie, that's just what you are, a zombie, so it's a dream!" He threw up his hands. "You can't win!"

“I can't win, yeah? That’s right, I can't win. That's my luck, ha-ha!”

I hope you like midnight horror flicks." His face crinkled with confusion; the zombies smile that I was always afraid of flashing on.
"Well I didn't say I was a horror movie person. Oh, that's right, but you said, I'm dead and I'm dreaming, so that's a horror movie, right?"
I thought about it.

"Okay, I guess it's more like...like if a zombie comes to my door..."

:: 09.24.2020 ::

Where human life
Celebrates
And nature takes on death
This day
Halloween

Since my mothers
Little stunt
I feel
That my
Hometown of
Almonte
Is feel with evil clowns
And demons
We all
Foat down
Said one of the clowns
******* fun house

As i lay in a cold sweat
Cold from
A nightmare
I feel dread
And fear
I try to
Tell myself its a
Pile of dog ****
Not real
But
I feel it was very real
As a bolt from my bedroom

Every time
I have a
Nightmare
At the odd
Time
I see the white flash
Or the angel
Gabriel
Indicating thats its
A prophetic dream
Not just a nightmare