The Hangout On Shady-Hero Hill

No need to ring.
The doorbell will
hold your skin for you.

Notice the
three-dimensional
cobwebs, thick-
weaved curtains,
hovering over
unfocussed lamplight.

Always check the closets
for skeletons, while the labyrinth
tends to your tallest
whims. Whispers will teethe

on your cartilage,
promise you won’t
hold your breath
as you blush.

And if you get lost in
one of the floating floorboards
or fall into foaming facades,
go back the way you came;

looking for the light
from the candle dance
that tops the shoulders
of any haunted stairwell.

And listen, with each step
up the inverted ribcage,
for the slippery squeaks
of the innkeeper’s toys.