Trepid, I came to see a
Dusk-drawn, dusty lane:
Watched roaches moor
On creaking gate.
Slanted house veered
To mirror-view.
Shut, boarded doors
Neared my rearing hood.
Croaking crows leapt
To fly, gas turned
Down, around old
Haunts and nooks.
A yawning hallway
Spiraled through. This
Calm abode, where once
I flew: floating soap on
Purple bubble brooms.
An orange sky
Casts yellow, here,
In glass-cased closet,
Which, secret, bears:
My boyish heart,
That beats anew, in
Dust-bunnied toys and
Cobwebbed rooms.
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