It’s hard to find an even house:

foundations settle at creation,
doors will sag from slamming,

tiles will chip from drop pots,
careless feet scuffing along,  
days when they sweat and cry,

bricks will crack, driveways too—
settling into a haunting beauty,

everything tilts differently,
microscopically altered
from your last place.

Yet, you wonder
if the windows
will stick in winter,
stay open in summer .

You wonder where will
the dust angels hide,
what room can you
see the stars clearly.

The screened in porch,
you notice, let’s
in too much sun.
  
You feel its heat
on your arm
during the tour.

Will it hold your gravity,
if it can’t hold its own?

The air conditioning
shrieks like a ghost.

You hear squirrels
dancing in the attic,
the ones that will
keep your dog
barking all night.

You look for the line
where the water stopped.

The angst settles in you
like night fog, like a lifetime
of settling that ***** you in,

The heavy rain comes
in amounts that
can’t be bailed fast enough.

The house is a lake.
The lake is inside you,
and in the collapse
of the roof, you see the sky.

The house starts floating away
and you disappear inside it.

It is me
that is destined to
be spilled across
the muddy ground.
It can be
no one else’s pelt
that warms your foyer.

Did you hunt me yourself?
Or did you find me
as I left myself
take me in
and dub me your ****?
Tell yourself it counts,
an accidental shot.

Stretch your toes
on my back
as you sip your morning coffee.
Beat me in the garden
in the spring air.
Choke on the filth
I’ve collected.

He was cold,
and my blood was warm.
I was his first **** after a long winter.
He had my body pinned,
down in the snow bed,
and this was the end for me.
I would be his feast,
and no one else would ever have me.

I'm on a hunt for darkness in darkness
The kind that would let me drift
Into lands beyond my imagination
Where silence does not lie, or mock or cry
I want a tranqualised darkness,
No scratch, cry nor song
I want to hear only black, the kind of black so deep you fall into it
The kind of black so dense nothing squeezes through
The weight of the endless hunt presses down on me
each step lifting of the ground lesser than the last
They hold my ankles so tightly, all these chains that put marks on me
and yet these hooks on my eyelids they force me to see all and forget none
They are tired of the number of times we repent, their forgiveness stretching thin
and so we drag ourselves thorugh the crushing darkness
pushing through the fog, one blade at a time
Darkness hunting darkness