any hole is a window
every wall is a door
all the ceilings are hovering
over all of the floors
all the windows are holes
every door can be a wall
the floors are foundations
or else the ceilings would fall
when the walls have no doors
the windows will replace
the floors provide catapult
and the ceilings give space
the walls are all stilts
so the ceilings can stand
and floors are the base,
the doorknobs are hands
windows opaque
door for the light
ceilings are clear
floors rise flights
the door can contain
windows cannot
floors mirror the roof
ceilings are proof
wall us in
window spin
door ajar
ceiling scar
in which doors are walking
reflections of ceiling tiles
silver like the floor
windows cracking smiles
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The Busted Window
The window shattered. Jack's rocking chair teetered as invisible shards of glass nestled into the calloused balls of his feet. A shake or two revived his limbs enough for a curious wobble to the now breezy hallway. He glanced left. He looked toward the entryway and remembered who used to stand there. And the same old longing returned.
"Why do I always smell vanilla when I think of her?" he asked himself with a whisper. Scampering to avoid the shards of glass that lay defeated on the ground below, he moved toward the utility closet in the hallway where he knew cleaning supplies soundly slept. It was there, resting at the bottom of the door, that he discovered what had caused this shattered imagery of reflected light and hardwood.
It must have been hurled pretty hard to have ended up here, he thought with a curious sigh.
By the time every invading shard was removed from his hospital-clean floor, the room had grown stiff with the chill of late fall. He silently moved his slippered feet back to the closet and with his aged hands picked up the small, hard object on the floor. Despite it's metallic exterior, he had no trouble lifting it. There was a warmth emanating from it's depths, reminiscent of the child once nestled in his lover's womb.
Suddenly, the object began to hum and increase in warmth. Jack dropped it and watched it roll down the hardwood floor until it stopped underneath a table in the corner of the room. It was dark below the mahogany surfaces, but he could feel the vibrations quickly dismantling the calm. The doorway - so it seemed - was the safest place to go. But to run would be cowardice. He knew what he must do...
He cautiously approached the corner of the room, noting that a quick exit was possible through both the kitchen and the hallway. With the poker from the fireplace, he lightly tapped the humming orb.
Nothing Happened.
He tapped again.
"What a crappy mini alien space ship THIS is!" he jeered. He kicked it out the door, down the steps and into the old paint-chipped dog house that was once home to Sparky, the bilingual nomadic dog.
"Why do I always smell vanilla when I think of her?" he asked himself with a whisper. Scampering to avoid the shards of glass that lay defeated on the ground below, he moved toward the utility closet in the hallway where he knew cleaning supplies soundly slept. It was there, resting at the bottom of the door, that he discovered what had caused this shattered imagery of reflected light and hardwood.
It must have been hurled pretty hard to have ended up here, he thought with a curious sigh.
By the time every invading shard was removed from his hospital-clean floor, the room had grown stiff with the chill of late fall. He silently moved his slippered feet back to the closet and with his aged hands picked up the small, hard object on the floor. Despite it's metallic exterior, he had no trouble lifting it. There was a warmth emanating from it's depths, reminiscent of the child once nestled in his lover's womb.
Suddenly, the object began to hum and increase in warmth. Jack dropped it and watched it roll down the hardwood floor until it stopped underneath a table in the corner of the room. It was dark below the mahogany surfaces, but he could feel the vibrations quickly dismantling the calm. The doorway - so it seemed - was the safest place to go. But to run would be cowardice. He knew what he must do...
He cautiously approached the corner of the room, noting that a quick exit was possible through both the kitchen and the hallway. With the poker from the fireplace, he lightly tapped the humming orb.
Nothing Happened.
He tapped again.
"What a crappy mini alien space ship THIS is!" he jeered. He kicked it out the door, down the steps and into the old paint-chipped dog house that was once home to Sparky, the bilingual nomadic dog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
