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

runs

how could she not know

runs

of this spirit world

runs

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.