i fill the bath tub with dead light bulbs.
then the sinks & then the closets. 
can't throw them out for fear of they'll 
tattle on me & my ceilings.
even the most durable bulbs don't last long
in the thunder of my door frames. i am 
a dark corridor in the shadow of 
the mountain. at night i leave 
all the switches open to ward off
wayward monsters who drag their tails
down my street at night. someone is home
someone is home, i say under my breath.
light bulbs are grown in a green house 
or bloomed naturally along super highways.
i only get the best. ripe with 
headlight & engine. i have forgotten
what the rooms look like in the dark.
i don't let it happen. take a bath
in the historical bright. a flickering 
hallway. in & out if time. the monsters 
are prone to stealing lamp posts, uproot
a whole stalk & lug it into the trees.
i change light bulbs even in the sun
just to be safe. cup bulbs in my hands
& give them a gentle little shake.
i imagine a city for my dead. streets of
filament & skull. a light coming 
from a patient never waning moon.
at best, i am tipsy as light bulb 
on a rec room floor. i dance
with the dead. i dip my hands 
in shatter. socket after socket.
re-screwing in my head & waiting 
for the glow. another one out almost
as quick as i lodged it. beautiful 
like liar fire. you did your very best
in this hollow. my apartment used to be
on the third floor & now it is 
below the earth. o plumetting life. 
a sacket full of tomorrows. a bulb
a day keeps the surgeon away.
my head throbbing with volume.
how would you like to be lit?
from the front? from the back?
lamp cranes his neck down
to meet me. blinks like a child
before going dim & gone. 

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