It

Under Derry’s skin, the dark keeps its shape. A white face blinks where the storm drains gape. Red smile, wet and wrong, in the floodwater sheen — a hunger with a grin, old as a dream. We all float down here — we all float. You’ll float too, if you follow the note. We all float down here — through pipe and rot. The clown-face laughs where the light gets lost. Rain on the curb, and the paper boats go. A whisper in the grate, a child’s “no” below. Small-town fear with a patient pulse, the stain in the walls, the pulse in the pulse. Name it wrong, it feeds. Name it right, and you bleed. Beneath the street, beneath the years, a shape wears laughing like a mask of fears. Not just a clown — the dark before the town. Beep beep, Richie. We all float down here — we all float. You’ll float too, when the sewer opens its throat. We all float down here — no light, no shore. We all float down here — forevermore. We all float down here… beep beep.