I can’t have the night come, but shit it likes to find me.
It knows who I am, it knows what I like, breaking them blood vessels, curling my fingers back. I keep opening the shade hoping the light gonna expose me, but it doesn’t and in this brooding way the gray always turns to black.
Last night I went a-walking. Walking through them trees with their hands just slapping me in the face. Whispering in my ear, they told me keep walking pretty lady, you’re walking the right way. There was a ghost coming out, been thickening my skin.
And suddenly the road opened and I was in a clearing, just a dead end – the tepid orange glow of the streetlamp. He was standing there just waiting for me, with hair mat down and flash-light eyes.
Couldn’t run, couldn’t do shit.
Nobody told me there were coyotes in the tropics.