Tiltmeter Ghost Thrills
Ghost Thrills- Always ten steps back I can hear you hide
behind the nearest tree from half way across the street.
So I lock my doors, close the curtains, turn off every
light and pick something to arm myself with. Watch me try
to avoid the flashing Polaroid. You wave the shot til
colour forms and press it against the keyhole. A portrait
in my line of vision was taken when my back was turned
from an angle that strikes concern. Prowl around. Peering
over each footstep that's become a token of another hour
spent tense and focused. I know your face. I know your
thrills. I've seen what you have done to girls in the
past and so I ask just what do you want with me? Pacing
back and forth and kicking dirt on the front lawn, I
decide this restraint's become an order. I appoint my
fist. Hell; quit hovering round and knock like everybody
else. You struck concern and then struck out on my terms,
my grounds, my shit. You're welcome to come in
