Tell your heart to stop building homes
For each passerby
And vagrants who just stop to eat.
Rip up the welcome mat
And suffocate
On the dust of those long gone.
Shake out the curtains
Stained with mold;
Torch them on the stove.
Breathe deeply of the spores–
The only living things
Or loving things for miles.
Take a knife to the carpets
And carve every name you’ve lost;
Start in English, end in incoherent pain.
Fill the sinks with water
Til the floors are overrun,
Soaked as deeply as your scarlet sheets.
Sit before the fireplace,
Warm your hands on vacant letters–
Full of words and nothing else.
What are promises to the fleeting
Or foundations
For these already dead?
What are promises to the fleeting
Or foundations
For those already dead?
Moonlit Poetry 