Republic

I

The chicken sacrificed
by my neighbour crosses
the fence in-between, its body headless,
and it leaves a Parkinson's line
Polka dotted by blood.

I clean the stench with a sight --
a scenic wallpaper that wraps the house,
flipped inside out.
In that pocket I live
as safe as a forgotten ticket.

II

Only I, the beast, can beat
the confinement. The beast must
wait until I feed me,
secure the lock and hang the key
from a peg in the Zoo's office.

The beast owns the neon maze
of the free streets, unseen if it
desires so and seen if it feels
the hunger of desire, but not every night
it roams free.

Otherwise, the city sleeps with
the republic bricks wrapping it,
days and nights tucked in, evil
and largesse hidden within, and dreams
about laboratory twins, mass killings,
reflection of ceiling light on
the Bloody Mary in a chalice that mimics
an atomic explosion.

III

Just a murder! These occurrences
get trapped often in our timeline.
You say.
We have
pork loins and an origami session
with the small girl who tolerates us
because of her love for our balcony.
I dream
about her slow and sudden fall and
wake up. Winter is here. The culprit
is still at large.