Tuesday, October 31, 2006

part 3 from 'tales from friday morning'.

jonquil street and main

they say i am with strangeness, here at jonquil street and main, in
the house where lived my father, white and yellow, trimmed with
gray, sitting in my dormer window, drinking english breakfast from

an antique silver tray, they tell the children i am an evil eye,
withered to the husk, that i came home from all my wanderings,
wars where minds were lost, and brought trophies fierce and

terrible, scars to tremble men of will, and my horrors darked
my mother's joy, sent her far into the night, they say i am with
strangeness, here at number 42, and never hear me singing,

of princes and their deeds, never see me dancing, in the dining
room til dawn, though i've packed away my mirrors, draw the
curtains with the sun, i know a lover's hesitation, have felt

a gambler's daring ploy, i've run with jackals cross a barren plain,
but always turn with winter's call, back to this house, jonquil
street and main, and friday mornings come gently to my soul


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