One Poem: <i>Haunted</i>

Haunted

A love story:

Remember that old house in the historic district of your town
So old that whatever was once Tom Sawyer white
Painted picket is brown and most of the windows were
Boarded up so tight from the inside out
Or that nothing about this house was purely straightened out
Sagged, and a mess of broken bones,
This broken home
Had (me)
To be haunted
But, that didn't take away from the brightness of day
Lapping the faded grey
Up and away from the front porch and its rockers we could have rocked in
We could have been punched our clocks in and faded to grey
Too bad, though, because real people with real bodies and stupid hair
With their stupid feelings, their stupid existence -- they happened to inhabit the house
That wasn't haunted, it should have been, whatever
It's not like I care

A tragic spin of events:

Aha!
I am the broken home, I live alone, you don't know
I was boarded in from the inside
You are the ghost: transparency of something that does not exist
There was a point in time I thought you did
That maybe you had built the house yourself, but I love you so much because
You are the most beautiful idea I have ever seen, I couldn't help but trace the seams
Of absolutely nothing, no things never leading to a lack of your genealogy
But, anyway,
Welcome back
These creaking things we call moans are nothing more than the lack of silences
I sometimes scream into the telephone
Hello my love, are you home? Are you home?
Of course you are, because my heart is on fire,
And I am crying washing the pots and pans again
Wishing I wasn't such a woman, where the fuck are my friends and,
I wonder if I wait long enough they'll burn me down
Because as much as everyone appreciates the physical evidence of history
Everyone loves having a brand new Wal-Mart in his or her town