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Seán Mac Falls
Poems
Jun 2012
House of the Unsaid
In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china
Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents
Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.
And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored
Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.
Written by
Seán Mac Falls
Éire
(Éire)
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