Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Leaving the House

I press shut my front door
Trying what it might give,
Sever the anxious roar
Pinning me to my chair.

In quick sets of hours
I've heard all clashing words
Traveling down many paths
Multiplied by copper cord.

Legs had long disappeared
In the arm of a chair
But now scream like death curred
Dragged from sleep by the hair;

For here's a fresh switch
For hive heads in circus worlds,
Full of sounds but wanting more
Wanting straight to the head,

To head out brittle-eyed,
Peering light-seered darkness
With taut holes needle-sized
Where suns turned after day.

Where those suns turned through holes,
I took down--and what sights:
Faded trees, drying air
Broken leaves, and no one.

Who'd leave a better world?

The cover of a screen
Gives what's wanted only,
Colors ray and speakers
Twist to any form wished,
And the graying world's seen
In higher clarity.

I deadbolt my front door,
Hope I'll plug one more day
Into the anxious roar
And another and more.

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