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Saturday, October 6, 2012


Sentimental Addiction

Not a sage alternative to cigarettes--
your spit and Skoal mix in a Starbucks’ cup.
Is  your white matter high?
Brown saliva and tobacco,  
battered pine cone, sap
dangling from one corner of your mouth.

I contemplate deference.
Broken lath and broken stone; one heart hung low.
Yellow wires threaded through support beams--
calloused hands barely reach to decorate the
basement ceiling , a soldered red star,
the lines of power  
ruffle nerves abolished on electric wires.
Still can’t reach the tippy top.
Holiday canister fills in as steps,
(gingerly packed last December) work-boot
prints a stranger’s history;
a grown man stands on a child’s memories;
not dead yet not alive.

Battered and abandoned are
disregarded Christmas adoration—
slivers of tinsel, confetti of silver
inlaid in a basement of soot and dirt. 
A new key, a new lock,
an old house
ransacked and scolded by souls
who don’t inhabit or celebrate
the warmth of her hollow heart.

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