My home.
Edge and a tongue that curls
To the tip-bottom nose of a
Girl sit in the living room.
A broken shoe sits in the hall
On the foot of a dusted man.
A knife that iridescence steals
Sways in the hands of a woman
On which a tattered red dress
Perches like a parrot on a
Shoulder. Meeting at the crack
A hanging lamp and a ceiling.
A chair welcomes some ratted
Books that lock arms and clasp
Each other like valentines. A
Table standing sovereign boasting
The chairs as residents of her
Land. Stale air carrying the weight
Of years of soot and dust from an
Ill-used and pallid fireplace
That moans quietly in the corner.
Poetry by Frederick James
Read 937 times
Written on 2007-04-27 at 23:22
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Asylum
A dead mouse tinkered on anEdge and a tongue that curls
To the tip-bottom nose of a
Girl sit in the living room.
A broken shoe sits in the hall
On the foot of a dusted man.
A knife that iridescence steals
Sways in the hands of a woman
On which a tattered red dress
Perches like a parrot on a
Shoulder. Meeting at the crack
A hanging lamp and a ceiling.
A chair welcomes some ratted
Books that lock arms and clasp
Each other like valentines. A
Table standing sovereign boasting
The chairs as residents of her
Land. Stale air carrying the weight
Of years of soot and dust from an
Ill-used and pallid fireplace
That moans quietly in the corner.
Poetry by Frederick James
Read 937 times
Written on 2007-04-27 at 23:22
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
