someone is living here—

someone is living here—

I just saw a car pass. 

the one you just heard, 

that was the second.

I was out here before.

not long— 

        long enough—

standing on this

deck—

suspended—I can see

a road's intersecting road. 

there are wires

                  going up

my mom's house and down—

the telephone pole 

lights outside of 

lights in homes.

I fear I've missed a moment 

because I saw two cars 

and this

              atmosphere 

set before me

                   might be gone—

something in its place.

I had this weird desire 

to touch those wires—

connect to the telephone

pole and I know I'd 

probably die from it—

before when I was out here

I was looking at that road 

and I was thinking to myself,

that's so fucking scary—

that road

with these branches 

                          in the way,

looks like one of those roads 

that would lead to a dirt road 

that would lead to a lake. 

in the branches I see a 

man with a long nose,

a long goatee

and there's lights on in a house 

but I'm pretty sure 

the people are asleep.

most people are, 

I think.

it's in the foyer—

a light to tell people 

there are people 

                           living here. 

before I saw that 

I saw a nefarious something,

                  something

coming at me—

something that is—

I had to get 

dangerously close

to understand how to live.

what lies beyond darkness

on this beautiful, 

melancholy evening 

lit by two street lamps?

lamps like giants 

imprisoned—

I wanted to come out here 

and talk about how scary 

everything was—

I was looking over that house 

wanting to understand why 

those lights were on 

lit from so many places 

—it's—

             such a big house.

and I know— 

it's to let people 

           know—

someone is living here.

ba—250315