My neighbor explains: we live in code:
at the center of Pride Month
is the call-word DEMON.
He has electrified his white picket fence.
His ecstatic pit bull drools at my spaniel.
It’s a foggy autumn in the foothills.
The cliffs all the more superb
for being invisible.
Highland of dray horses and apples,
ruined mine tipples, a padlocked server farm.
I’m commanded, love thy neighbor.
All night his motion sensors stalk the pines
for a ferret, a bobcat, the psycho owl.
I’m told, I’m no longer a person,
just a wrist scribbling in an extinct language.
Don’t bury me in this fascist earth.
Cremate me, let me be a wisp of smoke
in the hollows of the White Mountains.
