19 of 31. End October

Wind pushes in
past the airconditioner’s
accordion.

Low howling can be
heard

across the street.

On the couch
near the only lamp
lit,

their are whispers
of Revelations.

The flowers will die,
the bamboo brown
from being inside.

What crawls beneath
these streets
at night?

Who will use their hands
to touch it?

A door swings shut
and the light is put
out.

The dishwasher
hisses a lullaby.

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, fall, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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