Cleansing The Fane

a house
like any vessel
adorned from inside
arrange the bric a brac

children horseplay
on my spinal stair

mother hums in my
parlour throat

father tinkers
in my rib garage

my walls are papered with
night-light ghosts

my head is stuck
in the ceiling fan
my skin upholsters
the Chesterfield
my brain is in the
cuckoo clock
my bones warm
by the fender

I am
what I keep
for selfish glut,
or leisure

by sacrifice
my garden greens

in excess
a hollow tower

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


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