(An Ode to the Grandparent's House)
Impossibility
Never clouded my vintage mind
Moth fucked dead leaves
In my hair
Were perfect.

These walls have grown smaller
But the ceilings are still high
Beyond the doors,
A dead circus.

Timeless floors
70s decor
Flickers brown
And never gets dirtier.

Stale summers
Lost from speaking terms
With their once lustre.
Thunder storms
Against sliding doors
That I still cannot manage to lock.

I feel so old,
Hooded in this cove
Curtains viciously hung
Viciouly faded orange
As long as I remember.

Now I wander
Dead leaves on couches
Catastrophically doomed
To lie victims
Of time brutally spent.

The hollow caricatures
Of my aging minds
I, in despair for them
Over their time.
They, the stalagmites
Hanging in my family tree
Misshapen over time.

And I drift as far
As my memories have learned to
And I fall
As I used to
But now it seems not much farther
Than I already am.

I very well may
Be the only one
Who still breathes here
I pray
To never find contentment
Amongst walls and padded cushions
And I pray
I will forever hold
My dissatisfaction.

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