Moldy walls

We’re filling in shapes

That come in sizes too small

We’re believing stories

Told too wide and tall

I’m searching for flavors

Within my own view

That is stuffy and moldy and gross

Nothing new

All our floors are now creaky

All our cupboards just swinging

So empty

So dusty

So hungry

He says

We’re counting the places

We’ve seen on a map

We’re combing through names

In a telephone book

And the slush from the winter

Soaks in under the door

Whispers, “Blind me, I dare you”

As lies soak into my pores

“Wound me now”

Says the walls

“Swell me deep, bruise me quick”

And I follow the lines

“Fool me once, it’s a trick…”

Old routine

She smiled in class

But it stopped at three

When she grabbed her bags

When she couldn’t eat

When the sky turned four different shades of green

When her vision went black

When her cuts weren’t clean

And the tide leapt high

Above her head

So she snipped the wire

Before she went to bed

And the morning was worse

A cup of coffee can’t fix

For the dreams that she’d dreamt

Were like a blazed fire on a ship

So she wore her blouse

And she tied her shoes

And she slipped on jeans

Which were becoming a little loose

And when she left that room

And when she left that house

She smiled so big so bright so bold

To return to a routine which was becoming quite old

Opacity

I always knew

It was you

Because you left the sunroof open

In winter

To smoke menthol cigarettes

Because you stole coins from

The family change jar

Every once in a while

Because you played the piano

When it was out of tune

Or danced your fingers

On your electric keyboard

I always knew

It was you

When I heard the screech of the

Garage door

At 3 AM

When I saw your messenger bag

Hanging from the back of the dining room chair

When I heard yelling from upstairs

But couldn’t match the voice

I knew it was you

Always

I am

Stealthy

Collected

And

Fading

Into the background

Opacity levels

So low

Mangled

I hate huffing out

Words

For the sake of the

Pace

I hate rearranging

Chairs

For the sake of the

Space

You construct a

Fortress

I embellish your

Thoughts

Because you can’t articulate

Them yourself

I hate receiving ornaments

On holidays

Like cable knit sweaters

In the month of June

Because I stow them in

The drawers

From a weak and dusty room