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Dust Inside of My Head
Curtained windows - watched through -
Cavernous mouths that want you
And given the chance will swallow you
Steamed or broiled.
And the oven is already hot,
I left it on, you see,
Left it burning and lo and behold
Down burned the house
(Or even perhaps it was up),
Curtained windows, cavernous mouths and all.
Forgive me while I slide sideways.
There always was a slant to this space,
Best looked at through squinting eyes,
With layers of lashes to lock out the dust
(Or even perhaps lock it in).
For you know I'm certain that there is dust inside of my head
Because it hasn't been properly looked after.
Sometimes I raise my hand at the dinner table,
Or at least I used to before that friend of my father's died.
I had a question or a comment and it simply could not wait.
That's the way I was as a child.
Now, however, I think of waiting as a pleasant and uncomplicated
Form of vacation: no packing, no binoculars,
Only a brain -
Hard to leave behind in the airport,
Though not impossible.
Very easy to replace,