A Bizarre Way of Walking to a House
How bizarre it was to walk from the Bazaar,
the gypsy night parade to my abode
and the tiptoe of trepidation.
No longer do I know
daisy dew in darling day
so I’ll scream it all in some bizarre way:
A girl, walking, folded into a defensive pounce.
What lurks in these
forests of houses?
She paces herself and tries not to look vulnerable.
Step beat pause sweat. Soon,
her march slain by the meander—
the sharp sidewalk, the dying spotlight glow of streetlights,
the animal in that house’s alley, the tall swinging beings
that carry no torches, rubber meshing with asphalt in tires, on her feet,
spacious air and night humidity licking her shoulders and she
how could she not know
of this spirit world
I’ll die with no requests from my abode.
In the day, I’ll sleep eagerly
And in the day, perhaps you might see me,
the stranger smiling on the street.