Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
down the stairs, where the creak-feet of descent will silence a cricket in the room; there with couch and the bookstand, oak and glass.... sedate features; the odd bust of an Inuit matriarch- staring at your blouse like it were forged in blasphemies and trade winds. down there, where we keep the cat riveted to the headlights of our armored car. in the seam the coffee table is strewn, right down the middle with old magazines and straw placemats. a stain that never fades, stands in the garden of cigarette butts and dog-eared - post-it notes to a glass scarecrow. a mound of bric-a-brac and fingerprints. it's sticky where two people made the love that made the mess... but it's hollow where they never met. and you can see the carpet through the permafrost. our lens immune to domain. free to see the whimsy in a spot of bother about a broken heart. down where the television skin is the thickest. our ironic muse. just a spritz of cultured sabotage, and the good sense to go mad without disturbing the peace.... the same peace that almost - cost us the war. at the very least.
0
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
Peace Almost Cost Us The War
down the stairs, where the creak-feet of descent will silence a cricket in the room; there with couch and the bookstand, oak and glass.... sedate features; the odd bust of an Inuit matriarch- staring at your blouse like it were forged in blasphemies and trade winds. down there, where we keep the cat riveted to the headlights of our armored car. in the seam the coffee table is strewn, right down the middle with old magazines and straw placemats. a stain that never fades, stands in the garden of cigarette butts and dog-eared - post-it notes to a glass scarecrow. a mound of bric-a-brac and fingerprints. it's sticky where two people made the love that made the mess... but it's hollow where they never met. and you can see the carpet through the permafrost. our lens immune to domain. free to see the whimsy in a spot of bother about a broken heart. down where the television skin is the thickest. our ironic muse. just a spritz of cultured sabotage, and the good sense to go mad without disturbing the peace.... the same peace that almost - cost us the war. at the very least.
third-eye-candy
Written by
M/American
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem