Discretion

At first I coaxed a large print format from the days. The awning of my primrose life. The goading in my forehead, lurching escape-ward into up, the roof, a balcony, directions presupposed by the dictionary. Terms which I rejected on principle, zombies clattering away.
At this point I can’t even walk the dog without thinking how tenuous the streetlamp is.
And even as they eat the teenage neighbor girl, her pinks smudging in the dirt, her smug looks turns to eating back, reciprocal. Teeth outraged in sleepwalking. Not new or changed externally, but the supposed offer of keeping track, of sameness obfuscates my madness (So Now I Watch T.V.)
What was before a name embossed on a doormat, or enprincessed along the circumference of a license plate I gave up to the lights going out, blank and the same.
Even the birds, unashamed, twittered language through the carnage. The girl, zombie, neighbor, cast her shadows on the doorway. Feet, like life, patterning directions to take.