Who's There Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Do the dead hide behind Monet's flowers
Basking in dark closets
Wanting to whisper in moldy shadows
Do you feel that balmy air
Night checks you out
Like a spider on a mirror
On the filthy edges
Evil erections
Wet like a grin from beneath

How I love the moonlight
Old antiques crying
Moaning like a dead cats scratching post
Do you ever feel evil
Where did you get that silver bracelet
Pantomime like a French graveyard
She shuts the door
It opens by itself
Who's there?