His house is lying down.
He is out in the yard watching it happen.
The driveway at dusk is a warm
blanket wrapping itself around him.
The sidewalks are long strips of gauze
dipped in cohosh, snakeroot and flour.
Please press that against your skin.
Voices come in from the empty sky
holding him at attention for hours.
A symphony for blue spruce and dead
grass. Dancing on broken glass.
Golden bits of streetlights smashed
on the blacktop. Three gallons
of gasoline in a red plastic can.
The primal brain is signalling fear.
So much fear that he becomes
unable to recognize familiar objects
such as: Mother. Friend. Home.
Cars passing slowly on the road.
Tears as she’s driving away.
In his pocket, he caresses
the fine pearl someone laid
into the walnut stock.
He wants all the windows
darkened with heavy cloth.
You will hide what you cannot hold.
Deny what you cannot own.
The whole city is lying down
beside him. The next level he reaches
will be his last.
Poetry
Summer
2012
