Cut from the Cloth

Troubled genius blooms

on my family's fetid tree,

leaves falling to the ground

like loaves of stale bread,

light bulbs extinguished

under bushels

ripe with grain.

My house is filled

with portraits,

lining dank unhallowed halls,

each grinning transient specter

laid along papered alley walls.

I see myself sitting for an artist, 

on velvet cushion splayed, arranging

myself just so,

matching crystal and sconce array.

He is arching his head

to see around this silent, looming shadow.

I am closing my eyes, swallowing

dust born phantom skin, expelling

too much swollen air,  

to shut out the swaying reflection

of all this

deafening light.

Reviews

[Patricia]

Very beautifully written..... I love the feel of this poem and so many descriptive original lines, well done!
"with portraits,
lining dank unhallowed halls,
each grinning transient specter
laid along papered alley walls."

[Kristina Moulaison]

Thanks Patricia! I appreciate the review!