i painted my walls a
bland-boring-beige:
the same hue of the
deconstruction sites,
sights, to match the
imperfect furniture.

[ ^{toilets live in castles, but the loveseat begs to differ} ]

i’m sinking in sinks
and floating on ink–
vikings, viper kings,
sledgehammer me...

as i’m sinking,
s_inking


like the sins
of 1000 kings

you know our treacherous forefathers
treaded more than firehydranttyrants.
i caught the monarchies in my net,
as i relocated my realtor and set
sovereign moths to regicidal flame,
lit my carpenter’s autonomy on fire,
noticed flaws in architect blueprints,
and demanded my designer to repaint
the lavatory walls forgotten-colored:
invisible.

sin_kingsinking

like scandinavian princes
blathering in norse code,
like the germanic basins
in my still-foreign kitchen;
and while i’m not fluent in your spigot lingo,
i think it goes a little something like this:

dripdripdrip

{my couch is connected to my memory}

i burn calories; you burn bridges.
i build bridges; you build faulty houses.
my ceilings cave in; your caves are sealed shut.
my basement killed the attic just to piss me off.
my sink is loose, and i need a pumpkin wrench.

{you’re the unstable ground i walk on}

drip
drip
dripping
the war in wa^ter,
leaving me with the ‘te’ in
je te . . .

te-te-te-territorial invasion:

my house vs. your house,
my room vs. your room,
my blase plumber vs. your busy freemason,
my cheap mortician vs. your refined mortar,
my tomb of feathers vs. your pyramid of bricks,
my silver lined epitaph vs. your golden afterlife,
my straw heartbodysoul vs. your cement sleeve,
my scarecrow pauper vs. your birdhouse throne,

{dripdrop,
teardrops,
leaky faucet spills blood,
poetry, d-own the d-rain}

farewell pharaoh,
the roof just fell off,
and the chimney exploded.

i blame the ground,
but it wasn’t much of a home anyway.