White Trash Dream Team


Scattered in the muddle of the attic…

Every toy that could go wrong.

All the playmates with no shoes…

All keepsakes…black and blue.

Chaos lusts upon the ramshackle miscues.

Mayhem even friendlier…

When malice fills the musky air.

Between the clapboards dipped in mold.

Three flights up…

And, madness thickens with tall tales told.

I have attempted to piece together my place in this sullen room of stolen memories.

But the flakes of lead shatter by a grip too tight.

Well aware, I am, that the firmer the hold the more I lose sight.

What a cast of characters these floor boards have seen.

A white trash dream team.

Broken by birth certificates…Hidden by girlie magazines.

Twelves steps littered by the ashes of former lovers.

An obligatory glamour shot of someone else’s mother.

Shame on me for not dwelling in another harbor from the past.

For not trading an unmade bed of delusions for cash.

But this heightened abode is my home.

No matter how far into sanity I roam.

 

 

 

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