Wednesday, April 23, 2014

ant farm repost

I make morning coffee, you go up ahead
passing from panel to panel to pee
in profile directly overhead while I pour

purified water to the twelve cup line, 
our lazy streams splitting the ripened
silence with the braided sound of nickel

chain collecting coiled in a metal bowl. 
Darkness harries me from room to room  
nipping at my heel on the staircase,

a line graph ascending in a dry hinge
litany of old grievance.  We retire
in a welter of well-worn vignettes:

you fanning the pages of a magazine
me sawing the bow of a toothbrush
our bed, a crescent of lamp light, luffing

curtains boxed up tidy under the eaves,
waffled cross section of floor and wall
blocking the coda of our long running strip.   

No comments:

Post a Comment