Stephen King was Right II

The light of fog blanketing the hills, drifting in at night

is the sign setting suns give me, warning, “Some day you’ll know.

They’re calling to you too.”

I already know my house can’t protect me from the growing
rustle in the woods. The surrounding cornfields won’t hide

the monsters in the dark. Go outside when the moon is low and heavy,
see their yellow eyes wink in the fields like lightning bugs

I can see the earth tremble as the countryside shadows
grow from dirt, from blackness

they’re out there now, moaning and gnashing,
and all of them laughing and waving and

whispering to each other and looking out and
searching for innocent blood that keeps the corn growing:

life fluid cultivated by sharp claws every night
it keeps fertile land alive, keeps soil-built beings strong.


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