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^foster horde^

clammy chill
the trees have swallowed up
the yard and grown like
menacing shadows
swooning in their silk black
leaps through the dust
filled curtians
hushed house
just the echoes of
the leaky tap[
at dusk and dawn
the search of light
sent in with the
giants show
of abstract monstrosities
till guillotine shadowfall
steals the sun
and the violet brutal
longing of lonliness
settles...firing up like
the streetlights
from a dull simmer
to the brilliant sizzle

the basement is too deep
the rooms closed off
full of boxes and shapes
the electric torch sweep
the shiny din like a sunken
the dust like snow
an ashe of waiting
the casements filled
with leaves like the drowning
submerged in the green
rough lakes of autumn

everywhere she lived
when the house lived
in her oils and perfumes
for the downy length of
arm and leg

marvelous features
setting for one
now the house
a dolls
of furniture
while the rooms
the largesse
and the hours

Editing stage: 


a living oil painting, still alive.
I hope my reading does some justice.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

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