the tinfoil curtain
flutters, crinkles
as the stale air
pushed by the lazy
fan
passes over
their fly specked
shimmering
surface.
we've stopped
thinking about
the bugs in the
walls,
both the kind
that crawl
under your skin
and the kind
that listen.
the white van
parked outside
the house
is just
a white van.
something driven
by a housepainter
or a carpenter
or a pedophile.
we've stopped
gnawing
the skin around
our fingernails.
we've stopped
thinking.
it's the first
thing we've done
that's made
any sense
in a very
long
time.
____________________________________________________
PS
By the way, if you haven't seen my interview with novelist Michal Koryta, you can check it out right HERE over at BSCreview.
Keith, I can't write poetry for shit but that was a very fine piece. Enjoyed it and will check out the interview. Happy 4th July!
ReplyDeleteOh, please. This is great stuff.
ReplyDeletewe've stopped
thinking about
the bugs in the
walls
I love that line.
Hey, it's not like you're writing about how no one understands you and you're nothing but pain Pain PAIN
But if you recite it in Poet Voice I'll have to shoot you.
I like it... I like it a lot. Nice work, Keith!
ReplyDeleteMate, I am to poetry what Christy Brown was to Ker-Plunk. I don't understand most of it. But I do like some: Bukowski, Carver, Armetage. And this. Tasty piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteDude, that wasn't bad at all. And you remember the old t-shirt, with the grandma on the motorcycle and the tagline: "if it feels good, do it!" Well...
ReplyDelete