August 18, 2012 § 4 Comments

no door to slam
in the face of the twisted
my window is without
sill or sash and
the crazies are constantly
peering in at me as if
I’m the demented
maybe I am
or will be
the night is self producing
it’s offspring run their
talons down my
as I try to read their lips
now that I’ve shut my
ears to
their diatribe of dread
but it’s still the same
unintelligible fear
the dark gets deeper
their lips never stop

2012 Fred Whitehead


§ 4 Responses to fear

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