"It's about words, and words are all I have…"

on a dark manor hiway

their childhood homes are being sold  +they weep at roadsides

approaching 30  with simple grins   i remember that time  in my

prime   i’d moved on by then  living in semi-sin  with #1


but that house  sold on the free market  is nail-tethered   + in

dreams  when sailors are busy elsewhere  there is  the HOUSE

old uncle morty built   the emotionally crippled brother  of our



morty loved cigs +smokey scotch  died of throat cancer  after

spending 40 yrs. on a leather couch  in pj’s  but hey  i am not

morty’s keeper  + digressions bring night weasels


the HOUSE appears  all 1950’s+backsplit  but it is the garage

always the garage  that i find myself in  dustbin  broken cars

dead cigars  horsey accoutrements   daddy was a ramblinman


we found adoption papers there  (no not the asian bros)  up in

a trunk   +aladdin briefly fondled our redheaded friend ron  but

the genie in the trunk  rent a hole the size of  say   montreal

in the fabric of our nativity scene


+we still get dragged back there  where the dustgrime is perma

but we’re in the process of a massive clean up  sanitize the family  ghost

vaccinate the shit outta them him  +would someone throw out the

dead rabbit in the corner  fer chrissakes


i’d thought he’d fled!

the horror  the horror




Winter 2020  ..he’s about to be born..

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