There happens to be duller
Formalities
In the incarnations
of my silence, thank you.

I’m not sure what implored me to put the picture as my centerfold.
Of that I’m sure I’ll never know.
Instead, I just did. No questions asked.
Though the picture had always perturbed me in a slight, quiet way, it was something that my father prided enough.
Why should I not pride it as well?
Besides, my wife said it really “tied the room together”.

I told her that I still didn’t understand that phrase,

But that’s neither here nor there.

Every day, I passed that painting on the way out the door,
And on the way back in to the heart of my home.
My wife and I embraced a multitude of times
in front of our deer-headed ******
In his suit, painted onto that canvas, framed with gold leaf
That shined just so, when the sun hit it.
And I’ll always remember that my father left it for me
When he died.

Me specifically.

I inherited the deer head, and the body of a businessman.

There's a brokenness in our everything
If you fail to see it,
You may be lost

There's a ripple in the stratosphere
of undemanding attention

Creaking slowly across the floorboards
of consciousness and breaking down
wooden doors of inhibition.

Never has the lonely animal
sat so silently, secretly shushing
servant saints.

Window pains of repression
allow silent searches of what life looks like outside
but the windows remain unbroken.