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age

by Corey Lockaby

in a house by the river
there's smoke and dust and words

waiting in the doorways
sleeping in the attic
hiding in the sheets of unmade beds

and then outside there's a very old path
that looks like and might be
where somebody plopped the ancient foundation
and wooden beams
down in the center

so that the path became two
in more ways tban one

and it leads to the river
where a bridge made of rope constantly
makes buckling noises with invisible breezes

threatens what it has for centuries,
even when nobody is around to hear

inside the house
are rusty old pots and pans
where nobody tries to stop the leaky roof anymore

so the rain leaves blackened stains of rot
on the floor in perfect circles around

the windowpanes are smoky from heat
they grow wider at the bottom from the slow

slow fall of (almost liquid) glass dripping

the lightbulbs on the cellar shelf are made of carbon
the walls filled with
layers

layers
of dust that is better than the insulation
that eroded long ago
at abating the cold

01/24/2006

Posted on 01/24/2006
Copyright © 2024 Corey Lockaby

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/24/06 at 04:45 PM

Many wonderful lines - I especially like "slow, slow fall of (almost liquid) glass dripping"

Posted by Mark Maxey on 02/15/07 at 06:21 PM

wow! great use of words which dripped into the next line all creating a menagerie of images and emotions. Well done!

Posted by Dave Fitzgerald on 01/20/09 at 10:51 AM

Congrats on POTD!

Posted by D. James McKee on 01/20/09 at 11:03 AM

A haunting, lovely, deep, piece, well done!

Posted by Kris Mara on 07/31/09 at 09:24 PM

incredible visuals throughout...I'm standing in it (and it's starting to feel like a reflection -- so much more than just a place described here...so haunting)

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