7.27.15

Finally, an offering for weekend words. I haven't made anything worthy in a while, so it feels a while in coming.

7-23-15

I have dreams of a brown house

its gardens fallen into seed,

what used to be such an edifice,

now slumps gently.

The neighborhood has likewise bolted,

and bitter, not yet circling to

what again could be.

I remember how those blocks feel.

The light slants in untempered

past coal chute and casement,

amazingly functional obsolescence;

some of us are still breathing.

“Why are you here?” I can only say

“I saw you in a dream, small house,

old house of memory, and

the dream carried me here.”