Ordinary Still-Life

Grizzled houses desperate in need for a weary, traveler’s feet.

Hanging to chasms of rubbish buried with half burned tin cans…

the cleavage of crippled, front doors

…

Bygone…ordinary, tarnished, steel coat pegs.

and

forgotten ice skates

…

and the one cent stamp.

…

A room.

A community not centered.

A destination of ordinary.

A place of my own…

A house kept in my withering hands…with a body in similar repose.

Dust in day by day.

Secretly I will drive it away.