Sunday, October 10, 2010

The Lies I Used to Know

I miss them, the safe stories.
You couldn't fall

out of those happy endings
legs tucked under

The doors open to sunlight
& cornered gardens

brick paths, lilac & stinking privet
those transparent organdy kisses

I need a novel with no last pages.
Here was that truth

of rage, the burning sofa
the nights of smoke

My whiskeyed dad & Cinderella dancing
past dying. I was never sad.

3 Comments:

At February 16, 2011 1:36 PM , Blogger heavy hedonist said...

sharply evocative, a little haunted, a little haunting.

 
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