walnut street

White paint bungalow owl garden

Zipped up, pinstraight yellowing walls

Morning glories silver scaling the garden walls

Ricketing square canvas frame stair

Tottering dollops clay brown wet wells

Voices rising and running in stair wells

Knuckling knives, chinaware kitchen

Melon green, jellies jam latch lock cupboards

Ants and olives in kitchen cupboards

Dead rock tumbling blue clicking bed

Pull white cut covers over, paper sheets

Three p.m. rainy Sunday spelunking in bed sheets

Dumb drunk copper bleedings, open

Gusty train rumblings rattling windows

Pebbles skitter through lunglike open windows

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catsashes posted this

The Great Poetic Testing of Hypotheses. It's a big red bow of ticker tape. You can see humanity in its eyes as you approach it with your overlarge scissors at the grand reopening of "I was just taking a personal call in a goddamn phone booth and the motherfucker just shot me in the head." In some weeks and months and days you will find that, indeed, you are dead. I am Jess. I am an English Creative Writing Student at the University of Iowa. Ask me stuff. Be interested, be interesting.

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