the stranger walks among us. he smells our smells. he builds his theories as he watches us. silently stalking, silently walking. he lurks around the corners of our notions, our silly and wicked dreams. the narrow paths of our legacies, forming and unforming.
some say he will die one day. some don’t believe it. some say he is filling all the balloons to make the atmosphere empty and cold. to freeze our memories and create cave drawings that could be examined by ultra-violet fantasies. breezing, easing, wheezing through the other side of silly. other side of willy.
as the night swallows us, his day begins. as we sleep, he wakes up. sometimes, reminding us about the losses over ages, the capes and the cages. and other times, gently making love to us. snoring, whoring. always, but always, creeping while sleeping.