Poetry & Prose

To Be Straight With You

The house on top of the roof,

The one
that tarnishes the eye-
salted sky,

(into which he had fallen

the one
to the right of the old bridge
with rickety measures and
detached unions (you cannot miss it),
the one that climbs the swirls of honey-buckled
Fields, which (to be straight with you)
stroke the petals of fluid and night-scape
fears (where big fish with small dreams
–the dreamers,  rent their vacant mirrors);

the one to which dead trees compress
their  branch-roots
to mask
the one which, in non-current blocks
of time
embarked upon star-felled
universes, and
in contemporary instances
has failed to hold its ceiling high,
the one which traps its
between floors of instability,

is covered in cardboard words (of sanctuary)
shredded by

Such is living.

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