dead man in my closet

there's a dead man in my closet
wearing a pallid suit
of wrinkled human flesh

 

his eyes are wanton black; unplugged
and I want to touch them
but can't find my hands

 

there's a man in his beard
who tells me a secret
but I can't hear him and it dies

 

I look at his feet, they are ugly
they are grey
and remind me of the earth

 

In the space from me to him, I feel
so alone and juxtaposed.
Crushed between the emptiness

 

I feel like a boy on the lip,
a kitten to the bear
 like a cigarrete dangling

 

and in the waft of smoke
I know;
a truth unbidden now comes to me

 

the man in my closet does not stir
his face is ghastly
as if ashamed of his own nakedness

 

he has a vagabond tuft of pubic hair
it is curly,
and casts a shadow on his penis

 

head nearly tops the ceiling;
he is tall
Or the roof is sinking

 

I can't see his memories
but I imagine they are tinged
in soft lime and sallow blue

 

then a bird flies through my evocation
it pats my shoulder,
morse code for:

 

"C'mon son, it's time to go"

 

And there is no poetry in death
when a son says goodbye
and so departs his father.

Reviews

[Pukka]

Well this is fantastic. So creepy, moving, and more than a little bit terrifying. The entire feel is of warped reality- almost nightmare-like. By the eleventh stanza I'm left feeling almost sorry for the man in the closet which is a great achievement considering the earlier descriptions of him. Your use of enjambment only adds to the eerie feel and your use of language is beautiful.
I love this!