doorbell & drywall 

when the pipes crack in the walls
you ask me what monsters move through them.

i find a stethoscope & press it to the drywall, 
the house shivering under it's cold touch.

that's when the doorbell rings & rings
& rings & rings. i tell you we don't

need to get it. that it's nothing.
outside on the porch i'm standing there

in a halloween costume. don't let me in
i'm too old for all of this. there's a

great white shark, pacing, lurking in 
the pipes, that's more pressing, don't

answer the door. all this swimming,
the banging, a school of eels all squeezing,

stuffing themselves in the arteries
of the house. a whole ocean. we sit

listening & you whisper that you'd
like to go inside-- in side the pipes,

live tight as corridor. door bell again.
stay put, i say & i got tell myself to 

go home & put on normal clothing.
when i come back you've already gone 

i hear pacing, walls warping with 
your weight in the pipes. you run

from sea monsters, the basement kraken
with it's beak biting at your heels.

i come after you through the faucet that's
always dripping, but before i do

i stick my finger down my own throat 
to ring myself like a doorbell,

reaching, i turn myself inside out, 
my halloween costume, all gill & vein. 

there, the water is quiet now. i find you 
knotted in kelp. i kiss you till 

you come loose, the bubbles becoming
tuna as they come out your mouth.

we spend the night there in the pipes
& tell each other stories of our old

halloween costumes. the doorbell keeps
ringing, but we learn to ignore it.