nineties poetry... prepare yourself.

Everything Must Go

I went to a house sale

They're selling it all now

It seemed kind of awkward

Their stories laid open

Where was this table?

This house-husband pillow?

What kind of programs

Were on this TV?

A super-eight camera

That took family movies

An old crocheted afghan

An old false-pine wreath

Who are these people,

And where are they going?

Are you the one selling,

Or a vulture like me?

I went to a house sale

It's all up for grabs now

I ponder the prices

For rocks in the yard.

It's all mostly gone now

The family; the stories

Divided and conquered

And led off to die

Or is it a rebirth?

A fresh start for mother?

A new yard for father?

A small fixer-upper.

I'll sure never know now

Will not meet the owner

But all of the stories

Must surely go on

One piece in West Gloucester

One in North Dakota

The super-eight camera

The glass covered table.

A room full of clothing

Like bodies discarded

The person within it

In another place now

I can't help but wonder

Is this what the end brings?

Our earth suits discarded,

While some look and wonder

And price all our bodies

"There is a small tear here;

So would you take twenty?

I'll need all new cushions"

Trinitarian

Three into one

one from three

what does it mean?

theology?

The face of a child in

the face of a man?

Am i missing the mark?

Why can't i understand?

Am I talking with you?

Or with myself?

Is it God that speaks?

Is He somewhere else?

And how can it be,

That You're here with me?

When You're in a million

Missions and churches?

Maybe I'm just scatter-brained

But I would think that

You'd be a bit strained

And a mite too busy to talk with me

Just a confused servant staring out to see

And what am I hoping?

What ship could come in?

Could it be a barge?

Take away all my sins?

Or a freighter of answers for these tangled thoughts?

Answers to questions

It seems I forgot.

"Version .2"

Sea Birds, as plentiful as

The bubbling carbonation of

Coca Cola Classic

Beach grasses, home to multiple ocean creatures

The brownstones and ghettos of the marine set

Spread out as if it were

"A thousand points of life",

Or the spilled, upright french fries

Of men much bigger than me

With bigger potatoes.

The pulsing rhythm of wind on water

Perfectly timed archetype of the hip hop beats

The same yet different;

One made by the creation, and one by the creator.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I,

I took the one less traveled by"