Millhouse Decay
foster run
millhouse decay—
slumbering in the attic with a chair
resting in its resting place
hollowed out beams—
in the night
like a turbid dance—
sit heavy on your swollen walls
and even there there is something
spoiled if not
revamped trickling
down the spine of your heart and eye and into the corner stained clear with that insipid grin
"--"
tolls
the whole
way down
and not once
in this case
have I found you
lying
in the leaves
your bantering
tongue wrapped
around a tree
you sweltering
talariaoftime
buried
you tristesse
taketurns
taking turns
and give up
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