This Must Have Been Where I Learned It

It is not hard wood, not the
gleaming – glossy
hard wood.
It is unpolished.
Raw wood.

It was built quick and quietly. An emergency.
Like when a young girl was
sent away quickly
then
returned – everything in
tact, yet emptier.
Ssshhh…We don’t talk about that. 

It did not have the luxury of central air
or Vinyl Siding…
an “unfinished home”.

Unpolished, unfinished and
dysfunctional!!
The hot water was arrogant and the
cold water, cruel!
December nights waltzed in through the
cracks in the unstable
structure like they were made to take over the
place.

Pneumonia often leeched it’s way in,
threatening the morsel of comfort contained in
bronchial tubes.
Homes are cold and aloof though,
comfort is of no concern to them.
The set-up just stood, hard and rigid.
The floor boards shrieking out, as
if a bare-foot was
too much to sustain.

After some time, the ceiling began to cave. It had
been standing straight for
as long as its resources would allow.
It grew weak and frail, the floor
began to rot away, broken windows
sat bandaged back together, paralyzed.
Cinder blocks carried in cobwebs
that housed spiders more comfortably
than this house did its inhabitants.

One day, all of the inhabitants
packed and went away. No remorse, no sadness,
just the bare-feet walking further and further away.

 

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23 thoughts on “This Must Have Been Where I Learned It

  1. I’m having so much fun, and then you do PUBLISH THAT?

    Really?

    wow. You brought me right back:

    How did my skin peel off?

    No sun,
    practically nocturnal,
    never vernal.

    Moisturized religiously,
    with vigor and vim,
    and oils and cream

    Yet still it peeled.
    Inch by inch,
    leaving red and then redder,
    til “Bloody The Shedder.”

    Doctor’s poked and combed books
    and shot the odd look.

    Prodded, drew blood
    Offered false shakes of sorrow,
    then handed me off
    to a dermless tomorrow.

    But the truth never gotten,
    as this patient sit sodden
    As disease often goes.
    Bloated fingers and toes.

    Now I wait, til the oxy
    embraces the vessels,
    turns blue into red,
    and I’m finally dead.

    Bursting digits, no prints,
    limbs oozing and crimped,
    Organs raging and mad,
    but skinless at last.

      1. ME TOO! It’s amazing… a game changer.

        That made me stop everything I was doing. It hurt to read it.

        I felt it. In ever pour pore.

        My night of “funny fancy” writing is over… I’m WITH YOU in your new mood now.

  2. I simply meant “we,” your fans were being silly… and you ROCKED OUR world back down to the actual earth, where we belong.

    I’m all in.

    Let’s write together……!

  3. Thanks for following me.
    Yours so far, Great.
    Most of my writing over the years has been on another blog of my blogs and the book dream!

  4. Wrote this for you, just now:

    Slammed digit, car door.

    The thumbnail grows black.
    Distress kicks in,
    purple undercoat gets framed
    as the tip of your essence is maimed.

    Beauty takes a momentary refrain,
    as logic is strained.

    The pain is repressed and then over.
    Eventually the ugly will just fall off.
    As a matter of course.

    Normal will grow back.

    And inner flower blossoms again.

  5. Left like a corpse to crumble and rot. (usually impounded by the state or a bank)
    It always saddens me to see a house in that state, I can only imagine happy people living there when it was new, and what would they think of it now..

  6. Very touching. Absolutely great depiction of detail, and most of all it almost brought tears to my eyes considering my current housing situation and being ill at the same time. Thanks for sharing this.. Lucianus

  7. I hate, no despise humiliation.

    I cringe at prostrated images of humans as “things.”

    Objects. We are not. None of us.

    I wonder how it still exists in a modern world, where evidence is everywhere.

    Is no one watching out loud?

    And I cry worse for Wookies.

    All fur and filled with doubt.

    (Peta, think forward and hear my plea)

    (Mae, I hope your smiling… long f’ing night for your kid, me.)

  8. Words, in trepidation,
    huddle beneath the stairs
    ready to reach out and snatch
    expression.

    The homeless seeking refuge in the best way possible.

  9. Although I “get” how churning works….

    Can someone Clarify Butter for me?

    It’s Dairy right?

    (this is me trying to feel better)

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