running for hours

is the car far behind?

noises in the woods

racing in my mind

he can't get me again

i enter the hotel

does he know that i'm here

is that his car? i can't tell

panting, ans sweating

the cleark asks if im okay

i describe what happened

his height and his face

i go to my room

empty and silent

except the sound of a fan

i get in she shower

and wash off the blood as best as i can

a sound from the closet

run out the door without any clothes

his tall dark figure

pulls me in, the door creaks to a close

i sceam bloody murder

this town wasn't safe

the last thing a saw

was a smile on his face

[i tried, the town idea was hard haha]

I don't want to wrap myself

in synthetic wool sweater &

sip a hot tea in that painted

place nor eat scones within

the dense two-dimensional

fabrication of oily escape

in which no one breaths

when night wall descends...

Instead I want to wrap

myself in blank canvas

of riverside mountains

and examine the weft

and the weave of the

landscape found beneath

with magnifying glasses

...who knows what hills

& verdant snow coated

valleys might be found

to be drawn out with

fresh mixed pigment

in the unframed

midnight hours...

I have sat and sat

above the carriage house

where antiques are sold

and common folk of

undefined vintage

are oft trading

stories that send

goose chills and

ebegeebees along

the crested ridge

of the spine that

twists down to

the waters there

beyond treelined

pathway of the

mind that hides

all the peering of

the undefined...

those creatures

of which you

speak, that keep

us from venturing

out after dark...

with eye lids shut.

06.12.2023

This Place Folklore challenge @BJLeCrae