It can never be that way again.Every neighbor is, to some degree, a spy.
When you arrive, they will have been expecting you.
And still a cold wind washes silver through he gate.
Smut glows from behind the gas station registers.
Most things float when they die.
They need you in wardrobe, fair enough, but who’s this “they”?
Consider yourself warned: there’s no question more dangerous than How have you been?

–Dobby Gobson

Tags:associative poetrydobby gibsonpoemPoetry