and again, the gritty path,
for visiting the houses, ruined.
time fled and life stood still,
strangled in suspension points.
i come, to collect lonesomeness,
feed my senses upon bygones.
window sills to inner spaces.
motherhood.
there, the place of a fire,
the grime inks a flame in black,
silhouetted.
crock pots, iron pots,
cracked, bumped.
soup. boiling.smoking.
cendrillons wrinkling
by the fireplace
in yellowished orange blossom gowns.
a skeleton of a bed.
leaning roof.
a wall in blue.
the view from the back window.
the door to the backyard.
houses grow blind.
i come
to lend them my eyes.
willingly.
eventually they'll have me,
bind me, seed me,
a tree-creeper to sight
the swallows, tell them
we have a vacant eave
in a falling roof.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 1:05 PM UTC
and again, the gritty path,
for visiting the houses, ruined.
time fled and life stood still,
strangled in suspension points.
i come, to collect lonesomeness,
feed my senses upon bygones.
window sills to inner spaces.
motherhood.
there, the place of a fire,
the grime inks a flame in black,
silhouetted.
crock pots, iron pots,
cracked, bumped.
soup. boiling.smoking.
cendrillons wrinkling
by the fireplace
in yellowished orange blossom gowns.
a skeleton of a bed.
leaning roof.
a wall in blue.
the view from the back window.
the door to the backyard.
houses grow blind.
i come
to lend them my eyes.
willingly.
eventually they'll have me,
bind me, seed me,
a tree-creeper to sight
the swallows, tell them
we have a vacant eave
in a falling roof.
9.3.2016
