October Never Ends… The Madness Starts November 1st
BR WIlson The Wilson Family Lights, Guitars & Cigars
I start in November.
quiet about it. like a man hiding cash in the walls.
one tote. then three. then the attic sighs.
plastic bones knock like bad ideas,
extension cords coil like sleeping snakes,
fog machines cough up something close to memory.
neighbors think it’s for the kids.
that’s fine. let them have that version.
truth is
I like the moment just before the lights kick on
when the yard looks normal
and I know it isn’t.
I measure life in seasons
but October… October id life.
graveyard foam and rusted wire,
a crooked fence that leans like it knows secrets,
a scarecrow with a better posture than me.
I wire the dark together.
I give it timing. rhythm. breath.
people walk through
laughing louder than they mean to
hands a little tighter than they admit.
good.
fear, the honest kind,
strips the nonsense right off a person.
for a few minutes
they’re awake.
and me
standing off to the side in a hoodie
smelling like hot bulbs and leaf rot
counting reactions like a bookie
thinking
this is as close as it gets
to making something real
out of shadows.

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