window drapes and cold winter afternoons
walden freeman
Posts: 511
by the horizon like saxophones trying desperately to communicate
a family of birds is stuck looking south but lacking determination
dodging this odd pandemic of unstitched skin and bloody front doors
and sealed vaults and bankers reconciling with the wives they loved too much
almost airtight, your chest raises as you sleep like various questions destroying alibis for every disaster that happens around you
before, during, and especially after, a slippery bathroom floor and shards of glass go unanswered
a phone rings and again, a saxophone blares through its near-aponymous cousin's earpiece
so fearless and assertive that we end up shaken on the other side
dreaming of vast decorative carpets strewn through hallways flanked by dusty rooms
where children played for generations, but today this house becomes bulldozed
and we search for diamonds in piles of glass pieces that come from the mirrors
that once held in their corners the pictures of half-smiling ancestors that none of us really remember
meanwhile, looking on, the birds have not forgotten what warm weather is like
but have instead decided to remain where they can gather some sort of sympathy
every year gets colder, every year memories lose more detail, it's not going to change
a family of birds is stuck looking south but lacking determination
dodging this odd pandemic of unstitched skin and bloody front doors
and sealed vaults and bankers reconciling with the wives they loved too much
almost airtight, your chest raises as you sleep like various questions destroying alibis for every disaster that happens around you
before, during, and especially after, a slippery bathroom floor and shards of glass go unanswered
a phone rings and again, a saxophone blares through its near-aponymous cousin's earpiece
so fearless and assertive that we end up shaken on the other side
dreaming of vast decorative carpets strewn through hallways flanked by dusty rooms
where children played for generations, but today this house becomes bulldozed
and we search for diamonds in piles of glass pieces that come from the mirrors
that once held in their corners the pictures of half-smiling ancestors that none of us really remember
meanwhile, looking on, the birds have not forgotten what warm weather is like
but have instead decided to remain where they can gather some sort of sympathy
every year gets colder, every year memories lose more detail, it's not going to change
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