There’s No Place | Ken Farrell | The Piltdown Review

There’s No Place

There’s No Place

four walls of high red brick

this is a house

hides stretched taut over posts

this is a house

earth and straw plied between timbers

this is a house

dirt floors are houses

cardboard boxes are houses

holes clawed into hot sand

clawed into hot snow, are houses

palaces of pink marble

are houses too

and tunnels where steam lives

outlives rats and roaches

tunnels that go down down

tunnels that breathe like dragons

who would spill to dust

if ever they saw the sun

are houses that swallow men whole  




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  • Untitled
    a poem by Robert J. Howe
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