By Hannah Yale
On the side of the freeway, an abandoned Chinese restaurant
sits with a bouncy house blown up in the empty parking lot.
How did it get there?
The church bell rings over and over again:
Eternity in a moment–
There’s a well in the middle of the desolate, decomposing courtyard.
Walking closer, peering over–
and the well is filled in with concrete.
Too much, not enough–
Laying in the grass and looking up.
Total darkness, endless echo–
Painting our lives in vertigo.
Long drives alone at night are
a different kind of being.
Smelling like weed, smoke, and gasoline–
I could be a ghost.
With tears and high beams in my eyes,
I think,
Maybe I am the presence I feel in the shadows.
White Noise Zine 