kind of a closure poem

mould on the bread in
my head’s cupboards, widely ajar
across from
the kitchen’s heart

a table

under which forts were made,
around which we ate and prayed,
on which passions were
relayed,

backed into a laboured kiss

only oak
and legs,
centrepiece of dust,
chandeliers and
candles
replaced by rats and
tangled sounds from
upstairs

a home in disrepair,
from holes in the walls to
castrated chairs,

dead silence ain’t
no soprano

just a vacuous van
Gough,
popper of prose looking for
his trademark quote,

yet every iteration
in between
is thrown off by
grandfather clocks

and that’s my lasting
consolation.

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2 thoughts on “kind of a closure poem

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