Thursday, February 20, 2014

Bit by bit

Our flag rolls in the wind with a pleasant fabric clap
in some parallel to a reality that I inhabit
a voice that scampers like a mouse
 through the caverns of this great bungalow  
A reflection of the memories
A whisper to the antiquities of all the people that have lived here
they have been numerous and long
 slipping around in the walls at night searching for the morsels that patience generates
thoughtlessly they exist
as echoes of feelings linger
in the places that they don’t understand
specters of desires that once were held but have dissolved into the landscape
 as the mumbling noise of the street codes for all kinds of sin
and none of us are above it:
she did it in the other room  
while her surrogate children and her husband watched television
presumably to thumb her nose at all the cheap pointlessness
one last time
in the same place, infected with the same disease
hearing the shrieks of the metal makers at night
I wonder if it was the mice in the walls
That coerced her over the edge
The little souls that enter your house at night taking all that you have

Little vermin that rob you, bit by bit 

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