Sunday, March 21, 2010

21 March, 2010 - Scalpel


Shattered bottles swept in our dusty corner,
Tangled shag rug, stained,
Covers the crumbling foundation. Dried
Moss crawling through the broken door
Overtakes my rusted exercise bike,
Grasping table legs, your puzzles - unfinished -
Creaking up hollow wooden stairs, our steps, weary,
Trudge beyond thin railings,
Toward tattered coats clutching splintered wood.
Smoke rises from the stove, scents of burned meals devour
Flimsy Chinese boxes tumbling toward the sink, cluttered
With grimy pans and solid sponges.
Through the throat we walk,
Skewed door frames; passing cracked glass paintings
Dangling from twisted nails. Torn wallpaper peels away
From sighing plaster encasement masquerading as walls.
Our march of desperation,
Ascending the drop down ladder to the cellar,
Probing our resting place's skull;
Rain pouring through the drooping roof, sifting
Through damp cardboard boxes, frantically
Searching for buried photographs - meaningless -
I recall the shrieking crows on telephone poles outside.

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