Thursday, November 4, 2010

in this house


in this house    sleep
is restless
            another chore
to add to the list
                        we wake
sore on the rocks
of our mountainous
dreams
            cramped by
damp weather
and shearing winds
                        we wake
as if dropped
into a thicket of scalding
wild rose

            the uncommon
world in its orange dawn
and open mouth pulls us
to our feet
            back to our bodies
back again to the lists
inscribed in the metal
and brick
of our belongings.

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