Madness Built A House Next Door

Madness built a house next door
and its windows are twisted and
shuttered. On the front door
a raging dragon is perched like
a sparrow. With each knock
the dragon's maelstrom mouth
bites wood like a thunderclap.

Madness built a house next door
and its porch is ancient and
cluttered. On the roof, shingles
simmer like scales and chimneys
line the ridge. With each gnawing
knock at the door, flame and smoke
bloom skyward like red flowers.

Madness built a house next door
and its siding smiles a worn and
tired smile. And I built a hedge to
hide the smiling, weary home from
wandering eyes; a green hedge
my children played in when the
knocker struck the door.

And now I bear the dragon’s teeth
and knock on Madness’ door. On
pains of glass, I see my children
walking within the walls. With
each knock the children laugh, and
so I enter an empty home to find
Reason and a Hope.

Valentines Day

I took a walk and stole a beat
from a languid tune.
My battered heart hummed
as my feet paced in pace with
a song.

"Love is in the air," she sang.
"Mist is in the air," I whispered.
Black trousers, black shoes,
a black suit-coat, and last
a rose in breast pocket.

Subdued, I walked to your house.
Your father greeted me and surprised me
with a hug. Your sister listened
to the falling rain. "She's sleeping now,"
your mother said.

In the mist and rain, we left
the house as ants in rank and file,
desperate not to drown. The car's engine
hummed. "Love is life!" it seemed
to sing.

February 14th and a party to
attend. People gathered round
as a gentleman raised a serpent's
cup and proposed a toast in
your honor.

Hearts accompanied you, not music
as you were lowered down.
Each beat bled because you were broken,
bled red like the rose in breast pocket
I placed upon your coffin.

Birthday

I hate this bookshelf
you made for me.
All beviled edges and smooth
like the day I met you,
dressed to impress.

You impressed me with
the beautiful designs.
The bookshelf was empty then
and no expectations. Only hopes
to fill the shelves.

I hate this bookshelf
you made for me.
Because
This year you made excuses
and now my bookshelf's walls
are bookends. The old
books fused between
the shelves.

The new lay
abandoned on the floor.