How disheartening the fence finally giving way. Your checkbook unbalanced and lying in a ditch of human waste, of wasting humans. Palsied trees over look this, they object but decently the way chimneys take on status after dark.
I’m un-centered, esp. after dark. Sometimes the power is on. I think of the shadows of me from the candles, signals.
I’ve coined new light. Tropisms of currency. Your straight and speckled waiving.
I go out in the dark but no matter where I’m standing I know there’s a camera looking over the shoulder of one of them, zeroing in on me.
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