Every House

Every house I ever entered

whether to live in or breathe of -

- awhile, I would keep trying

To find the cornermost corner,

At the angle furthest from

When you enter the door.

And then when I encountered

each such corner, I sat down

in the comfortable darkened edge

yet to see the light of knowledge

-That usually pervaded a house -

of who I was, when I entered it.

Yesterday was different.

I had set myself up to fail,

And found that my last corner

Had in turn, turned upon me.

I turned back from my corner

To face the rest of the room

And I was awash in light.

The Somersaulting Heart

I think of leaving all this behind

but the furthest that I’ve got

are peremptory boasts (a wish) that

my heart lies somewhere better.

Still, slow retreating steps’ll do;

hold me in better stead I guess

than going forth where I’m never true

a penny-counting half-witness.

A few days ago, a stab of jealousy -

like a poisoned dart - enveloped in me

a nice, deceiving warmth, you know

almost what they call ‘inner glow’.

It was at first, a fling with Art;

tho now I’d like to be committed.

The asylum’s not far, but my heart is flung

somersaulting away, all song and drama.

Spud Piece

You enter the room

there are two chairs

one has a potato

you sit next to that one

you don’t happen to know,

what it’s for, how it’s this

Phenomenon (but just before

you said that; I stopped you).

The potato is alive.

no boo - not in the realm

of the Possessed, you just know

the vibe a living thing has.

But the truth is, the potato,

it’s me. I wish I was only

aloo-ding to a piece of fried me.

But i’m just a spotty spud.

Roundabout Truths

If we can – freely –

admit to ourselves that the

Underprivileged automatically

lead more virtuous lives

and the righteous follow in file:

then we might suspend this

acting out we do in difficult ways;

misdirected (almost) always

on unsuspecting souls & elbows

[it’s a privilege to be unlovable]

Then we might even find ways

to answer the oldest question ever posed

How to pass the time? This time, with fewer scars;

who knows? We might even make ourselves

useful.

There’s virtue in being useful; mostly
it’s honest and has constructive results -

- usually. When I sit with my grandma a while

I feel I have been of some use.

And I pat my own deserving back for it.

Witchful, Watchful

There she sits, always across

The room from me, distant

Enough that I can’t really tell

If she’s looking at me and smiling

Or if that wily smiling fetching

flirt is someone else’s to tackle,

for the moment. I gather, only

to disperse, my thoughts and fears.

Just so, her legs aren’t impossibly

Long; hair tousled in a fashionable way.

Smidge of ennui flickers on her face

I sigh; I rise to take her hand.

A dubious idea rather dismissed

ere I destroy her charmerie.

In my mind I blow her a kiss

her eyelashes acknowledge me softly.

Tote

Sometime this season

You'll stop the spiralling

Out of control. The

bristling'll cease.

You'll bless your breath

As it leaves your body,

and you heave 'self to

and fro quietly.

The colours are the

 kind that seep through

The folds they fall,

becoming you.

Drive about town;

a deserted look

Eyebrows that have

been abandoned.

Persisting sulk

Burl won't go away

Acquainting with

a gaggle of freaks.

Last and final call

Grab some empathy

Stuff it down your bra

Proceed to boarding.