House
One wall, of course,
is money, or more
precisely, its scarcity,
and so we make choices
about what we can and
cannot have, where we
can live, the size and
shape of our lives.
Another wall is fear,
which keeps us safe,
but which also sands
away our faith, and
waters down our tea.
Fear makes all our
stories end the same.
A windowless wall,
painted white and straight.
Our third wall is noise-
all the distractions and
empty calories of now.
The thoughts that have
been thought for us, all
the opiates and lies. A
noisy wall of poison gifts,
bees and condescension,
dry pills and definitions.
The fourth wall is time,
shifting and deceptive,
that slides away and
hides itself, right there,
in plain sight, like it is
permanent and solid
even as it flies away.
The impossible promise
we make to ourselves,
not even ours to waste.
And covering all, this
dark unknown, a roof
that leaks, and broken
attic stairs, a barrier from
all the bare elements-
gods of burning, shock,
chill and rushing flood,
a filtering not of else, but
a filtering out of ourselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment