Thursday, June 25, 2015

Poem - on the second floor of a rambling victorian house - this means we are family

i had a dream i was sleeping
on the second floor of a rambling victorian house
that was painted white inside with brown carpet

it was gracefully falling apart
due to age and use
the rooms were bright and bare
with the expected scrollwork and wood details
smothered under many layers of paint as to hint
on how crisp the lines of sleeping shells and pearls
and other rambunctious seagifts clustered around ceiling
say where a gas jet chandelier used to hang
yellow gaslight through frosted cups long gone

the dream beds were made of bread
that had just been baked so i poked a hole
in the center of the mattress to get comfortable
and I lay down under a comforter

I looked at the second floor of the house
which creaked from time to time
as the creatures that lived there moved about
half book and half salmon emanations
who had their own culture
and shiny supple sayings

as I thought this one came upstairs and saw me
did a double-take asked who i was
i said we were in a dream and i was part of it
so the creature exclaimed good, as odd as that is
this means we are family


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