House
I will have a house of wood
and a ceiling that doesn't leak.
cats, no -
barking dogs, to sit and watch over me.
I will cover my favorite
nude paintings when the Mormons
come for brunch.
I will be all vintage and blue,
rum red with the hanging velvets,
smoking outside when I please.
I will clean the floors
until I am not the mess that runs on them
anymore. I used to make us mop
together, but no more.
shame, shame on this girl.
and I will syringe my organ of pain
into letter and word in the book
that lies on the coffee table,
until my dolor seeps out through
every vein. I will be a pitted-
out peach and turtle-less shell,
until gutted fully of all my throe.
and if I'm lucky, with sleep finding me in pitch and crackle,
I shall dance up my chimney as my body wanes.
Poetry by Christin Brennan
Read 1090 times
Written on 2007-10-13 at 23:28
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