Monday, September 26, 2005

Mysteries of the Asylum


our home suffers from a lack of flowers though
houseplants spring from the dank
corners of the living room grow large
waxy leaves in the shape of boats or
hands and the view is astounding in those
rooms made of windows sometimes when
.
we argue about for example the car or
my virginity the sky suddenly opens
us up with its humming red molecules
of oxygen purple clouds and gold make-believe
hills until we forget our words just shake
our heads and leave through opposing
.
doors it is damp and oppressive with light none
of my crayon horse portraits stay taped
to the kitchen wall by morning they have slid
down to the tile floor and curled up like dying
slugs when it rains the roof
.
thrums like a hollow shoe box no one ever
brings home yellow roses to pause
in a blue vase sometimes we sit outside on the hill
above the house (where we buried our pets) and chew
grass and sometimes we hit each other on the head
and wander into the forest sometimes we kiss
.
and make up but still no flowers no one sleeps
much we worry we will miss something important
one Sunday a small mountain lion leaps
onto our roof we call all our friends and
whisper by Christmas he is
.
gone but sometimes we see tracks
in the vegetable garden next
to the stunted squash

3 Comments:

Blogger Michael said...

Love it!

Stanzas two and three are my favorite.

"damp and oppressive" - I think the use of oppressive here is grand!


The crayon portraits that have slid to the floor and curled up like dying slugs.... YES!!!

My god - what a memorable line!

WTG!!!

4:21 PM  
Blogger Christine said...

Thanks! This one's been getting mixed reviews.

11:36 PM  
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12:51 PM  

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