a writer's lair

Stream the fears down your cheeks:
no monsters hide under the bed.
Scream the scares out your lungs:
no creepers wait in the closet.

an old black wallet and a new leather glove,
a basket of shoes and a bin of shirts,
a clump of boxes stuffed with nothing,
and a pair of roller skates that hurt.

a bramble of cables in a briar of computers,
a heap of maps and whole lot of books,
a dump of DVDs and dash of CDs,
and everything else you'd hide in a nook.

A giggle of girls grouped around the jewelry,
A snatch of people picking over the heirlooms,
A jumble of boys huddled about the toys,
And a house emptied as well as all of its rooms.

Autumn's a tumble of leaves this morn'.
The hills are scatterin' the leaves they've shed,
the fiery maple leaves chasin' the timid yellow oak's.
The squirrels are a hustlin', and the jays are fussin',
and the wind is kickin' up its heels across hills,
enjoyin' the swarm it made this fine morn'.

Blink

Camera wide shot
Blink

Too much to take in
Blink

Light-bulb lanterns droop
over oak tables
Blink

Brown fan set the
morning mood with its moan
Blink

Too much to take in
Turn off the camera

Blink

Alone by the avenue, I watch
metal cattle clatter
over the cracked blacktop.

Shrieking each nudges the other
toward their goals. Plastic and
aluminum souls feasting on the

deaths of millions, sucking their
brackish blood into their bosoms,
while alone by the avenue I watch.