Us Chickens


We peek: two wisps
willed into being. Begin
creaking of hinges.

Squeak under
feet, whatever’s breathing
in the corners.

Collars up against
cold. Bold boys,
but who goes first?

Opening outward now.
Chill wind, a sudden
gust rattling the

shutters. Visions
of viscera, 
a gory end cut,

chunked, spat back
into cisterns.
Within Nobody

peers out at two
ghastly ragamuffins.
The eyes have it;

under omega,
bodiless dog:
sad & lonely.
Sad & lonely--
playtime is
casting stones

at shadows who
dwarfed by a torch
shiver & retreat.

Feral in the corner,
been quite some time;
catching up on reading,

brooding, the brood
advances, with poking
& cackles.

Nobody believes
in ghosts
these days.

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