nighttime the house moving all around me I’m here alone the family’s out I’m

listening to Mozart a fire shimmering as I read my Byron & Browning thinking

of Professor Elliot his long hair & long leather coat like bat wings he

taught me about the Romantic Poets making them come alive like this house

seems to be & I know of course this is my imagination playing tricks maybe

it’s the dog I’m hearing maybe it’s the heat clicking on but the walls I

don’t know they seem to be breathing oh my damn imagination but no there

does seem to be something moving around in here somewhere no can’t be

impossible oh-ho there it goes again but maybe it’s merely . . 

— Michael Estabrook