Wednesday, February 11, 2015

these dreaming houses



early morning with
the sky hung like some
forgotten war
over these dreaming houses



pale light
and no shadows and
all of my old poems
seen clearly as
lies



and art is not her problem
but artists



not the woman
who dreams she's a nun but
the boyfriend tying her
to the corners
of the bed



her sister shaking and
dropping the baby
to the cold kitchen floor



all it does anymore is cry

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