is once upon a time- transient dreams of new light,
radio, and illusory skies; an upper left hand corner
to a house too close to a yellow poplar
that if severed by a lick of lightning its branches
would retard those dreams. think something sweeter
than nightdark and transit through it: a soul maybe..?
imagine a ghost trundling, ambling in a cemetery
lying down besides all those that are gone for a perfect fit.
what he’s seeking has been lost all along, loveloss.
no hairy chest to lie his bewildered head on. just like
a monster calling home. recalling lord aizen, dear
trickster, deceiving those who knew home could be
elsewhere. deception comes as a knock on a door-
the music is too loud. dad says, “you don’t need to come
back here.” the monster hardly ever calls home.
which doctrines prove the heart ahouseunbuilt?
is this when the handgun debuts? and why would
you not keep one as you sprint down those long
red corridors? please know that when you see
“chris was here” scored into the walls deep in there
that it’s not a wound but where home should be.
for all that is known, there is no holiday for saying
goodbye; no memory joyful enough to elicit tears;
no foursided structure climbing to a peak
to imprison you from living; no dust; no porchlight
to alert when outside playtime is over; no more
sneaking out of bed to lie in the hallway to watch
wrestling with mom as she waited for dad; no more
stale mcdonald’s either; nothing; no; only
the efficacy of knowing that there isn’t a key needed
when death plugs in the nightlight and tucks you in
to sleep for foreverness once upon a time when
home lived in breath.