Posts Tagged Porch

When It Comes Back

When it comes back, it is
thick cheese on French onion
soup. It is a net that drowns me.
That old brick building, solid red
with windows crashed, splintered,
with chicken wire on the second floor
porch. The porch is the jump pad, for
head first, gently, with grace, knowing
that maggots will crawl from my eyes.

I gaze and pray for the breezes,
inside the building, longing for a crisp,
drying motion before the man
of substance gets here, smiling,
hoping again that people won’t see
my chaos of thick cheese through
warping of tears that come from
a nothingness like a fly stuck in the soup.

, , , , , , , ,

2 Comments

Tabitha, M’Lady Blue Jay

Sometimes I read, but since that causes me to sleep, I tend to set my book on my lap, and I sit and watch the boards of the porch, the trees behind my house and the ground underneath them.  I like to watch the boards of my porch change color very slowly. Sometimes the boards appear to be made of liquid, but that happens after I have been sitting too long.  I sit in a cheap white plastic chair which is quite uncomfortable, but I can sit for hours.  It was never lonely on my porch when I could read without putting myself to sleep, but now Read the rest of this entry »

, , , , , , ,

5 Comments

%d bloggers like this: