by Christopher Raley i Their faces beheaded by fence line grotesque laughter, contort a bent double to disappear them then release them back to exposure’s buzzing yellow of dirty night.

She sits in watch of small frames detailing mimicry without and marks them a record in tickling her cynicism.

I stand in kitchen slider view of them bray back shaved scalps and strangle long necks for a tip-up glint of darkness.

Quiet rests her pleasure she forces no perspective, but flattens lines of emotion in comforting remove,

so let the bombard next door without a verb. Endless is the violence, and delight is without end.

ii I pull the drawers for snack and pill as lamp clicks off and her in bed. I check the locks against a thud and turn out light until the dark.

Her warmth is oblivion next to me, and blanket pulled up too cold to be but fear cutting a line at the base of my neck.

For her I am a child. I receive the blind worry of what may be evil with eyes open in darkness.