Within me is a house
There is a path with tangled lines of dahlias
they reach out, celebrating the company of my steps
The flesh and pits of plums litter my yard
The purple ripe sadness chips at the soft butter paint
only on the shadowed right side of the house (logic)
It is a consequence to bear fruit in domesticated quarters
The path leads to earth born steps
first step from tangential cursing
onto cerebral acceptance
They take me further and further up
Arriving at a silver steel opening
Only I have the ability to enter
My feet monogamous to creaking wood floors
Grains of chaos and contempt
pounded down by order
Pages of words unspoken litter the desperate corners
Where tainted wall kisses golden wood gloss
No furniture
only prints and fabrics and feather
to lay upon
Ceiling-less, crowned by
Colored glass
warmed by sunny soul
and I am alone at last
A home to combust and contort
and howl into