10/52

Took a scalpel to this, but not's changed much. We're doing  a big show in June, and I think this is one one I want to polish up for it, but I'm worried it feels a little too sentimental. You've seen it before, and I won't post it here again, but I did put some polish on it, and it's been a while, so I'd still like your feed back.

As a child, the basement was a death sentence.

Filled with innumerable phantoms lurking in the moldy dark

A urine colored fluorescent tube

Tossing sickly manila light in

Fits of maniacal laughter

across the eager tongues of the handsaw

The growling stomach of our water heater

Possessed with the tortured souls

Of innocent children it probably burned to steam our showers

The dusty rocking chair where sat

The headless ghost of a Confederate soldier

The box of holiday decorations

Where an evil clown was probably just waiting to erupt out of

And stab you in the eye with the Christmas Tree Star

To do laundry, you had to brave the descent

My only choice was to

frantically dump however much the fuck detergent

I  had the guts to pour into the machine

while some dark shadow mopped its cold tongue across the back of my neck

till I freaked out and punted the washing machine closed

Launched into a dead sprint up the stairs

Into the quiet light of the kitchen

That haven for refugees

from the cursed chasm

Wherein slept the half empty paint cans

And the spawn of Satan himself

And it was so silly

Being afraid of things I knew were not there

I am walking through the neighborhoods

That I abandoned

After it was decided that you and I were a terrible “we”.

Here lurk vicious figments

Hanging knives in my throat

Like tombstones for all the names I would call you by

I am riding my buses home

staring into an empty window

But feeling the weight

Of a second head asleep on my shoulder

I am shutting the alarm clock off

Reaching over the empty half of a mattress

Where sleeps a patient ghost

In cafes, and movie rooms

In bars, and restaurants

On street corners where good-bye lived

At bus stops, my front door where it was always

Your knuckles rapping

Anywhere I buried kisses

In the soft fire of you

Those places are now dance floors for phantoms

Twirling shipwrecks

Empty bellies growling song requests at the band leaders

So, here we go I swing like flunked outta ballerina school

I race cliff divers into the haunted dark

My heart wants to sprint out of

the basement in my chest

Into the light of my mouth

But my throat keeps slamming the door shut

So it lives there now

And it so funny being afraid of things that are not there

An old love that’s not even a memory

It’s just this fun idea

Like a city you could never fly to

Like I got plane tickets to Atlantis
Like I got an express trip to the year 2009

– I’m gonna get out at the stop where we kissed

the door frame of the kitchen

and everyone at the party got mad at us for blocking the way to the beer

It is a scientific fact

There are a small number of stars that are dead

Who are just reaching us now

But there are sailors that still navigate the path home that way

There are still the hopeful that wish on that flickering light

Pinning hope on Apollo’s dead horses

There are still people trekking through dark neighborhoods

Staring at all those dead stars

Like it were safety at the top of the steps