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Squint to See
A portrait of a perfect house with flaken gold .
An image by a renaissance man
talant without a family.
The inevitable imagination creates a story
yet it could never picture a home, merely a tale.
The shiny roof that reaches Saturn
although chips of it drop like hail
a turn of a ring chops a chimney and changes the pattern of the universe.
Watching from a privileged distance
with only the use of a telescope
is where you see the truth.
Nothing can be stellar with flaws
a mascarade ball modernised.
Gleaming kitchens barren of crumbs
wagon fulls of CDs of unimportance
shut doors with sills cracked cover rooms
the rooms where flaws a shoved into hiding.
Make-up ready for six,
seven lists on the mirrors,
beds with eight blankets,
lamps that eat away colour from skin past nine,
rare to find a ten.
Rotting with a turntable spin aside
the words mean little when the tune repairs
disguising the silence defeats the efforts.
Time moves unstructured
life becomes stroboscopic
yet we forget that this house without roots isn't microscopic.
The gold on the man's creation implies a landmark to the aliens
Copyright ©
Nali Mc
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