wph

Downstairs in the kitchen

Stars are great wheels in a machine sky.

Heaven is above in the metal dome.

You pour yourself a cup of Water.

Long live the dead we prop ourselves up on, 

The cane we pass off as our leg. 

Long live the gods that money trickles down from, 

My head cold waits at my bedroom windowsill 

Tells me: 

‘No, you can’t do your homework. Lie back down and quit thinking so much.’ 

Tells me: 

Remember the old A-shaped house?

The one with the castle downstairs

And the spell around it?

It's empty now.

Did you know that?

Your body is asleep in the house you moved to when you were fourteen, but your brain is wide awake in your old school library.

All along the ticking surface

All the sand along the edge

All deep down in long dry throats:

Fingers press.

Hands Press.

All from loose and baggy skin

Round half-lucid teary minds