Out the Other

The spangled hippie callouses the crowd with 

"Sage and mystic" truths.

A punk behind his band "blares rowingly" into

Waterfalls of audience flooding

our basement.

The "cow-colored cat" walks straight and, in

keeping with the small "rights of passage,"

takes it.

But a "rat lives in the oven" now.

Our quixotic landlord mentions briefly "the

Eviction" and too well we know.

"No body here" speaks pity for the spate of

degrading situations and

the dishes mount again.

Our "rotting trash crescendos" in its

volume of leftovers.

No body angers for the flies that've 

caught up in our business.

The "Tree of Paradise" needs pruning.

"In love," our passing burns more oft than

in our hatred's "smoking" plumes.

These corners cube the brief delights in

our giggling, "cacophonous reaching"

and turgid wants of "fancy, yet"

damn "we are not going" anywhere and

"we should really" do it and

"This is all" our fault

just looms.

This house can talk and it still says

"nothing."