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	Poltergeist Society
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The hillside rises up over the low suburbs in the misty morning. A rusty maw
	drooling clouds, birds circling like flies.
Poltergiest society, playing with sticks and stones and lines of text. Cabals
	of kindness bending over the bridge to give me a smile.
Dropping all the suitcases and knapsacks. Flurries of others' lives, fabric
	leaves from thinning trees, no sweaters in September.
No gentle warm caress. The ease of a cat leaning into your leg.
Jungles of oceans and glass. A sea of office jockeys jumping like monkeys
	into traffic.
Empty cells on a spreadsheet. Petri dish numbers scrolling Matrix-style down
	the walls, growing reasonably restless.
Watching me toss and turn for hours. For hours.

Blurring sunlight in the early hours before my hands know where they are.
	Lichen fingers and pitted pupils.
Held together with emergency blankets and expired rations. Thoughts and
	prayers.
Neodymium collecting every direction around the block. Stripping drivers of a
	will to turn the wheel.
Phantom noises underneath. Need time to break in the new parts.
Separating the wheat from the chaff. What chaff?

Forget about the ripples reaching shore. The stone is already sunk, settled
	at the bottom, silently gazing up.
Terraced existence. Levels of vulnerability, tiers of gratification, donate
	now and get a free pen light.
Jumbled crags of grass and falling sunlight on snow. Tattered banners and
	police tape flapping.

A stray cat under the streetlight across the way. One white foot, an ache of
	innocence wandering away.
Where is he going? I cannot follow him.