I took out the carpet and unrolled the blood. Yesterday we went swimming And picked out all the nails with our teeth. Now there are only floorboards. I shook out the plaster And out fell all our little horrors. Spineless, bread-less, Without food or ambition. Red-necked, blue-tongued, I fell off the roof, laughing from fear. How this old house is falling apart! I have tried; really I have, To keep up the gutters, drains, and shingles. Outside, the porch collapses inward; Baby’s Breath in piles on the lawn; Inverted rocks stacked in heaps against the walls. Here are the books, Lined up red against the shelf. They have not been touched for years; The dust is inches and inches thick. Visitors spit on them. Roll up their sleeves in disgust. Harbor their suspicious About the carpet and the drapes. Airless, blue-cheeked I fell off the couch laughing from fright. How could I confuse this place for merit? Nothing but death inhabits these walls, Dust, much of it. My God, the character is morbid. Long days sidle up in my arms. Long nights, the sister of my birth. If there was half as much precision, I should be finally free from the presents of this place. If I should get out, all I want- is to live on air, air, air.