A house on loan.
I have a borrowed house that breathes
I have lent eyes that streak
I have given Spanish channels that I rearrange and mutter pulling in and out like out of tune wiry strings and a unscrewed cork that pops and drops and forces the hands to pour
600 others that ring, ring and sing sing
I have cold snow outside white icing like the awaitings last meal
I have seventeen degree death row winds like capitol punishment's last deal
I have awakens of slow breath
I have awakens of a racing heart
I follow a dear, or elk, or some beast of four paw print's on a long snowy road as soft as angel's cloud and bouncy and icy and note nice
I have fear like the gallows pole cracking on Hallows pond
I have inhibited oceans of unlimited limits that drown, birth and complain, holler and whine
I have a whole in my filter I must thumb to inhale and yet barely anything of fitness comes from it or any smoke out of it
I have a felt tip that wriggles smooth
I have a quilt from the 1940's, a great grandma's touch
I have to quit and begin from the 1980's
I have the eastern time set passed 2000
I can hear a couple of my friends singing Put a Little' Shine On It and hitting rewind and smiling to big for their own walk with the last deal and death and capitol
I have eleven years nearly and more if I want it
I have no rules
I have no tools but all of the tools ever invented
I have paper. I have papered spinning laughs
I have your voice that chains, clings and dies
I have time that pangs, rings and rang and chimes in different times
I have pains that pains to pain that reminds me of pain
I know that to forget is a form of remembering and remembering is a form of forgetfulness. Ha. Ha.
You are not the subject and are fading fast
Til 70 you'll never touch me again
Til 77 you'll never see me again
Til yonder only the pinpointed stars that peer in and back again
You are not the subject and are fading fast and slowly after every day, I can barely hear your barely audible voice and I cheer in victory as it grows quieter and quieter as the snow tinkles and reminds me of heaven again
I have color, spreading the spice and shaking out the fleeing lice and purifying my every inch
They don't want ya in the kitchen anymore (but they don't want you)
This isn't directed toward your and your special needs or your ego or your feel good inhales, or your crumb filled floor
I have the color blue in here and its cold like a frozen fence blocking out a river of dusty reflecting flakes
I have it's cold like a frozen word and broken contract that has been pushed like a pusher from the Father
Its all glue in here. I have that it's all glue in here. I look and see its all glue in here. I have a look that made ya wince
I have its lie. I have my little snow covered angle men in the ground
Its all real now.
Its my little. The little I knew.
December 22, 2011.