killer

sometimes we end up in a horror movie.
the killer is outside painted by the mango light
from the neighbor's porch. when i feel up to it,
i invite the killer inside. he is confused. 
used to chasing. designed to chase. i feed him
beans & rice & we talk about the moon.
he lays his knife down on his thigh & removes
his face. nothing but a void beneath. 
to be kind on occasion i will agreed to playing
out the scene. he will give me a running start
& i will burst from the front door. try to start
the car. he is in the back seat. on the radio
there is a story about another dictator & 
the killer thinks it ruins the mood. he believes
there is honor is his kind of horror. the big burning kind
he is opposed to. he has strong morals. fears
should be earned. chased for. not massive. 
a replacement of the sun. he never leaves before sunrise.
always over stays his welcome. wants to talk
politics. wants to get me riled up. i ask him,
"why are you a killer?" which makes his laugh.
he always responds the same, "why are you a victim?"
this is when i kick him out. when i lock the doors.
when i look at my own kitchen knives & try
to decide which one would be best for defending myself.
i saw a sticker on a trashcan that read,
"those who believe violence is never
the answer have never had to fight for their life."
i wonder who we are to each other, me & the killer
& the big movie that i never get to see. 
my attention span is not what it used to be.
i think i have lost the desire to get it back. i have accepted
that i will live my life in clips. the running.
the eggplant night. the persistence of the killer.
on the nights when i don't let him in, 
he sometimes falls asleep. asleep, he is nothing more
than a phone flashlight. a star on the ground. 
moths dance around him until he's replaced by morning.
sun full of ants. the knife stuck in the dirt.