He Turns It Off

Unpublished pieces

Trembling, he opens the lights. Vision blurred from
sawdust in eyes. He sees the copper pot clanging
softly on the wall. He drinks his shame in liquid
shards of flowing vines..

They snap around his heels as he walks across
the floor. They demand and insist on honesty
as he drops his eyes..

To his feet of molten lead which have kept him
locked inside of himself for as long as he can

Once upon a time he played outside in the dirt
that surrounded his house. The rain arrived and
he was left in mud...

Mud that became his perception of reality as he
drank his milk and dipped his cookies into
the bloody veins of melting hate...

Which he felt for everybody who looked at
him as he ran naked down the street in a
fit of terror..

Which became another way to explain
the drain of ambition upon the crumbled
crumbs of postmortem blues...

Sitting down, he became a part of the
problem instead of seeking a solution.
The radio is on.
He turns it off.
The house is silent.
So is his heart.
He turns it off.

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