Sunday, July 26, 2009

At midnight.

At midnight the wax drips
f
r
o
m
my candle onto the wooden
s
t
a
i
r
s
keeping time with my steps

This house is old like myself
and so it moans and creaks
the sails are unfurled from
my bedposts waiting for wind
there are no ghosts here
just a bit of undigested cheese

2 comments:

Justin said...

i like the rhythm and the feeling. it drops off a bit suddenly for me, with the Dickens reference. i kind of wanted to know more. but overall, beautiful

Stan Yann said...

Thanks, Justin.