HOME | DD

Description
The window tree is gone,
And now there's nothing to hide
The bloodied nimbus moon
that sleeps in my dreams.
The pictures are unhung,
And the hollow halls hum like
Bones cleaned of meat.
What is this place now,
but an apparition,
A ghostly firmament
telling tales of childhood.
The sound of bicycle wheels
no longer spin
Through these vacant, horseless fields.
Boxes pile like carcasses in
The living room where
my grandmother died.
They beg me as I pass
To take a match and
light the funeral pyre.

Description
The window tree is gone,
And now there's nothing to hide
The bloodied nimbus moon
that sleeps in my dreams.
The pictures are unhung,
And the hollow halls hum like
Bones cleaned of meat.
What is this place now,
but an apparition,
A ghostly firmament
telling tales of childhood.
The sound of bicycle wheels
no longer spin
Through these vacant, horseless fields.
Boxes pile like carcasses in
The living room where
my grandmother died.
They beg me as I pass
To take a match and
light the funeral pyre.