Outside the wind chimes
plead, usually placid
notes wrenching, piercing.
Outside the wind chimes
plead, usually placid
notes wrenching, piercing.
A’s dream–a fairy
cottage in the woods–simply
too good to be real.
What naiad dances
in your pulsing, surging heart,
calling me to her?
She turned to cake, felt
herself melting, the devil
eating his way out.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
‘Beware!’ Caesar was
told. Like teens in horror films
he didn’t listen.
We drive to where his
girlfriend’s dad says the haunted
tunnel is. We freak.