Empty House

what make we

what mar we

in the formless air of the

nothing square?

shuttered, dustless

and sere

like a  hobbled

moonbeam or broken


i speak

i don’t but I speak

and light dribbles down my cheeks

and is lost in the cracks around my navel.

hard to remember

wax breaking, channel and signet gone

the ink

is poison.

Dust eats me

and I am alone.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s