Friday, December 14, 2012

Cassavettes

booted a hole through the speaker. Hurled the hi-fi
down the staircase, where it bounced off the bannister.
Kicked the houseplants, clawed at the screen door,
headbutted the goldfish bowl.
The great wheel had clicked onto a blank space,
signifying the start of an epoch of nothingness.
He couldn't handle it, and took his rage out
on the furnished split-level.
He felt like he'd been tricked into believing
there was some order in all of this. After all,
books sit at right angles on the shelves.
Furniture stays firmly in place thanks to gravity.
But still.
So now he kicks with all his might.
The bulbs pop, the curtains are rent.
The carpet unravels before his eyes.
The plaster turns to powder. The soft beams splinter.
The pictures plunge from their nails,
the empty frames full of jagged teeth
egging him on, screaming his name.

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