Sunday, February 3, 2013

Profane and Worldly -A Poem


The treasure is under the trash bags,
perhaps even inside, lost beneath piles
and piles of shit.
Not useless junk or leftovers no body
wants;
actual shit, the pieces your body
doesn’t need.

The floorboards creak, mistreated
like an abused bride on the honeymoon,
by the occupant’s
obsession
with collection.

Stained, structurally unsound, like a universe
made from a fresh bowel movement, the house
must come down.
It cannot stand as a monument, a sacred
sanctum, of these profane bodily fluids.
Your sanctuary must be torched
and the ashes must be scattered
for fear that it will reassemble.

1 comment:

  1. The most constructive thing that can be said is cut out a few extra articles as in "The","It", etc. And the metaphor "like a universe made of toxic Legos" doesn't quite fit in with the other imagery of shit and body fluids.

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