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"The Vanishing Staircase" by John Grey



What do they mean?

The staircase is here.

First one foot on the step,

then the other quickly

slipping in behind.

I'm ascending,

not vanishing.

Amazing how the most

benign of people or places

can get a bad reputation.

Remember, the possessed cat.

What about the haunted river?

So some mice, even a small dog,

were torn limb from limb.

And cops dragged bodies from the water

with faces blanched, jaws cemented open,

eyes popped like jack-in-the-box lids.

I'm sure there's as simple an explanation for that

as there is for why there's no railings

on this landing.

It was built on the cheap.

Like my body was built on the cheap.

Otherwise, why don't I sense

there's suddenly nothing beneath me.

Unless, that is,

sudden revelation is something.

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