maybe it's ghosts in the walls

 maybe it's ghosts in the walls

not a chittering onyx squirrel

or plump persimmons thunking on the roof of the tin shed next door

maybe it's wolves plinking through the leaves

maybe it's the ghost of high school you 

looking for a criminal princess

maybe it's humming birds sleeping. their wings have finally stopped.

maybe it's donut boys on bikes after midnight 

whooping through the darkness

maybe it's you slithering down the cliffs on your butt

maybe it's me tapping out poems about you 

on a pretentious old-timey typewriter

maybe it's nightmares slithering through the walls

bad grandfathers and demons.

Maybe it's fat rat raccoons spelunking for clicks and likes

maybe it's just my imagination

or a dream or a wanting 

maybe it's half the world's on fire

and the other half is dead and cold as ice

maybe it's you haunting me 

or the stillness of the cold 

making the pipes and the wood and the glass of my house

expand and contract

maybe it's all of these things and none of them

bump bump bumping in the night

if I get one song out of meeting you it's almost as good as getting two