A House Breathes Through Its Bones
A house breathes through its bones,
Its summits sit like sentries;
Though rafters decompose-
It never denies entry.
Its ghosts lie in their beds,
Soft earth beneath their memory;
The shutters firmly closed-
The past seen only dimly.
Anti-Love Poem #1
When you've loved someone,
As much as you're capable of,
Just let them go. Even better,
Don't write about them- ever.
If you must, let it be once only
And let that be as their epitaph.
Let the seasons and the wind
Sweep away the painful memories
Don't try to re-start fire from a faded puff of smoke.