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Homes Are Places We Keep Things We Don't Want

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Nothing really works anyway when unicorns lash out the glitter in their horns and
Leprechauns eat candy corn. I don’t mean my mom any harm but she’s cooking up a storm in our bellies and our hearts and just
Wait till you see what I got,
Wait till you see what I get.
Broken glass china, fever in summer;
Broken glass china, flowers in spring.
Broken again and again so white and dainty so
Sparkling clean.
Just build up your strength till you can’t build anymore. I don’t mean any harm but my brother slams doors and everything’s so fresh and clean in my mind but outside it’s
Sleeting again. None of us have the time;
It hurts when you sing and it
Hurts when you rhyme.
Like flowers that haven’t yet grown up,
Flowers in winter,
Dead to my mind.

I drink what I can but it’s not much these days, I drink
Anyway. With grass growing up around my sentient feet and
Ladies walk past shouting obscenities.
Nothing is hidden, now; everything’s clean.

I’m drowning in my own insignificance, I’m
Coughing up my own ambivalence,
Reflecting- infecting-
You all.
I know nothing anymore, my mind is a sandy shore, salt water purified over ten hundred times.
I’m dying of nothing I can say but every day a little bit passes away. I’m
Eating so much candy corn and
Not getting fat.

There’s nothing much to say but the porchlight won’t hold.
Electricity’s dodgy, the house won’t get sold.
My namesake, identity, everything’s here.
Under the white wooden slating are my dried child’s tears.
My youthful blood, my sunken dreams.
You won’t lift me away.
I’ll be heavier than the sky
Today and yet it’s pressing down malevolent. It’s pressing down over
Consciousness
So bland it balks in the face of this
Frank little boy with the dried child’s tears and the unlaced shoes asks us what will we do?
We don’t know. Just leave us alone, to our quiet feet and quiet lives.
No babies cry here anymore, no babies cry.
 




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