looking into your eyes, inches
I'd burn these last three candles but the gas
has been shut off
so to speak
(the stove is fireless, an image of itself)
and the lighter has been packed and the matches,
like all my ephemera,
have been PITCHED because there is nothing important about a match
until you need one.
And now that once everything
has been removed
(more or less)
it becomes evident
that the dust has owned this place all along.
And unassumingly
but clearly
would not mind at all if you all just disappeared.
So you will. You didn't know it but the dust drove you away. You thought your lives moved of their own accord and when we had to, we swept. Which is probably what did us in, come to think of it.
Now it's just me
the walls
the floors
the open doors
the dust, and
Oh, it's you
that doorway fits you like a glove
Come in, come in
If i forget and start to sing,
the rooms remind me and echo and shut me up
sitting on the floor now with you, your paper smell. Imagining sounds.
I'm sorry this
place has had many residents
and they left their footprints on the hardwood
the carpet
(finerprints on the banister, if I may be cheeky)
But you're welcome, you let in the fresh air
gapped the curtains for some light
And in your breath, the dust eddies
this is not home
this is home
you.
And night: bare. empty. crickets, and aching arms, and sweat.
has been shut off
so to speak
(the stove is fireless, an image of itself)
and the lighter has been packed and the matches,
like all my ephemera,
have been PITCHED because there is nothing important about a match
until you need one.
And now that once everything
has been removed
(more or less)
it becomes evident
that the dust has owned this place all along.
And unassumingly
but clearly
would not mind at all if you all just disappeared.
So you will. You didn't know it but the dust drove you away. You thought your lives moved of their own accord and when we had to, we swept. Which is probably what did us in, come to think of it.
Now it's just me
the walls
the floors
the open doors
the dust, and
Oh, it's you
that doorway fits you like a glove
Come in, come in
If i forget and start to sing,
the rooms remind me and echo and shut me up
sitting on the floor now with you, your paper smell. Imagining sounds.
I'm sorry this
place has had many residents
and they left their footprints on the hardwood
the carpet
(finerprints on the banister, if I may be cheeky)
But you're welcome, you let in the fresh air
gapped the curtains for some light
And in your breath, the dust eddies
this is not home
this is home
you.
And night: bare. empty. crickets, and aching arms, and sweat.