uncanny

The power lines tangle with the scooped out moon above as I kick dust, gathering the mythos as it manifests, slips and scraps caught along the wallop of the wind. The pieces that I put together, the little ones I toss back. The facets fill with sentiment and appetite, the statue’s stance the tree’s reach. The glass door slides, a portal opens. The porch light the glow of another world behind the slide closed, moths and spiders and other confused cohorts of the messed up night. I turn and head toward the light. 

It’s a bumps and bruises at the intersection of mind and heart, the brain and body already piled up in the road. Everything collision and intent. Stippled with signals from every sense, spurring the focus as it champs at the bit, wandering around the bandwidths, fixing for a frequency. This  strange beast stuck in the center of the labyrinth, trapping the mystery it stalks in dead ends and sudden corners, the sets and stacks each thought avoids or impacts. So lonely and hungry and unsure of its name. Filled with uncanny hungers, uncertain of its name.

My attention suffers mission drift and my body starts to lag, caught up in an unfamiliar process printed in my circuitry, the familiar ritual with strangers across the fire. A split knuckle keeps bumping up against the sort of things that you tend to split a knuckle on. A hammer that sees every problem as a screw. I’ve used up the batteries, messed with the chemistry, a gift for composition once all the parts start to rot. So I rattle around the ritual, staggering the aperture while I spin around the grave. Bit tongue and clenched teeth and the empty of the night.