Refusal of a farewell to picket fences.
Adjusting the metrics of memory to compensate for loss.
Exclude present thought for a dreamhouse fit for ghouls;
a past fit only for dolls.
Dressed up in expectations expired,
luring in for discovery with bright walls and passion calls,
visiting rooms of unborn embodied by industrial recollections.
Current views through the mirror scrape off the paint.
Relevancy infuses disease into the bones of a home.
Out of state to the rhythm of children’s footsteps
as they rove about a dreamhouse fit for ghouls;
inhabitants fit in a vision of us
that died in a closed door,
severed phone conversations;
hurried steps from the imaginary.
( ❤ Mitch)
The Works of Mitch Worden 