Look at your game,
girl.
Warm nights,
open windows,
the mouths of homes
gape blankly.
The stilled street
dyed sodium vapor sepia,
casts black speck shadows
of hedge leaves
swaying at the stale
breeze of our passing.
Creepy crawling
through
spaces,
assumed to be private,
assumed to to be safe.
"Leave a sign,
something witchy."
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