Tiny, Pretty Insects

Posted: July 10, 2012 in Uncategorized

Beige-lit hotel rooms with air thickened, musty, choking

Line up like dominoes, put in place by a younger me,

Knocked down by a rebellious me, lived by a weary me

And forcing me to write, speak, repeat a mantra

That home is wherever they hand you the keys

And trust you not to make too big of a mess

Or get the cops to knock on your door

Be it lease agreement, homeowner’s association

Trust fund watchdogs or guestbook forgeries

Someone is always watching, always keeping an eye

And shaking their head in eventual disappointment

Leading me to wonder about my grandparents

And what they did in the former quarters and thirds of their lives

If they ever pushed into their eyeballs in the middle of the night

Like I do

And asked themselves where to go from where they were

Maybe sneaking one last swish from the bottle and breathing promises

Of never agains and not gonna happens

Which in turn makes me wondrous again

For those who continued to live on to see my

Simultaneous growth and devolution

Into what may have been them, or maybe worse

Does it keep them up the same way it keeps me

Straining to hear the rain outside and

Whispering private damnations into the pillow



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