the stranger walks amongst us. he smells our smells,
he builds his theories as he watches us, silently stalking,
silently walking. he lurks around the corners of our notions,
our silly and wicked dreams, the narrow paths of our legacies,
forming and un-forming.

some say he will die one day. some don’t believe it.
some say he is filling all the balloons to make the atmosphere empty
and cold, to freeze our memories and create cave drawings
that could be examined by ultra-violet fantasies, breezing,
easing, wheezing through to the other side of willy, the other side of silly.

as the night swallows us, his day begins.
as we sleep, he wakes up sometimes reminding us
of the losses over ages, the capes and the cages
and at other times, gently making love to us, snoring and
whoring but, always creeping only while sleeping.