639 Readings

Adonta ta mele

Running cracks of lead flaked paint, spiders across the front door like a grandfather’s forehead.
Its hinges squeal from years of inattention and forgotten maintenance
Floor boards moan a song of dismemberment and forgotten age
While musty gloom thickens the air – inhibiting, restricting, compressing breaths

Entrance ways lead to hallways which culminate and connect enclosed spaces,
hovering in an atmosphere of haunt and mourn

Conversations linger, echoing within walls of dine and feast
settings arranged from ritual –
two plates,
two bowls,
two cups,
two knives,
two spoons,
two forks,
two napkins,
two chairs,
with only voice and ephemeral trace.

Twisted unleveled stairs, escalate to second stories
letters to love and hate cover ancient mourning boards.

Segmented space divides the infant from maturation.

Cracked spine, chipped rails, exposing the wooden crib core
Superficial angst and rage characterizing the infant’s facade,
yet delicate love exposed in clean white linens pressed and laid in perfection
sets the bedding stage for stuffed bears and embroidered blankies

Toppled bookcase defecates bound knowledge across adult wooden bed frame
disheveling sheets, rugs, and right angles,
its half fallen posture exposes entrance way to hidden passages.

Between walls, moving slow as not to catch thread to exposed nail, pipe, or wire
shoulders grazing support beams, pace entranced by flattening florescence bulbed ceilings
Each step enclosing space tighter and tighter

Climax turns to anticlimax as exit opens to
a hermetic cell of textural paint echoing skin blotched and boiled.
Surrounding walls of tattered gold, ulcer red and puss filled purple,
each based with blotched skin.Encircles full length mirror exposing views of
deceased discomfort –
Black glass glows within frame of ornate wood
spiking and curling with baroque transcendence
Reflecting back a ghost of future deceased persona.

Posted 12/01/09
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