and now  the voices start

those grody sounds that stop your heart

beneath the floor, within the walls

the precedent for dull footfalls

calling to us one by one

with no clear sight of saint or villain

a spectral round of hide and seek

directed by a floorboards creak

each time we search there’s nothing there

but of this guest we’re so aw...

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eidolic dread horses

have scarred your slumber

and even your furniture

has silent, open mouthed, nightmares

over the too soon dead school friends

who never ended their crossings

where there she stoops in shroud

ghastly knelt as in prayer

and you can’t see through the tricks

of light that scream “she is there”

your crumpling chest  boiling

as the bones...

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