Its like the blog has its own little life today…PSAs and now this….I got an email from a poet from Canada asking if I would be interested in swapping links with him and when I went to check out his site, I was very impressed with his writing.

So…links swapped, I asked for permission to reprint one of his pieces and here it is.
Evictee, by Bruce McRae (and I am encouraging him to show up on the Speakeasy too)

Evictee

You mean the house inside the house.
You mean the mythmaker's lodgings,
with its many doors and million windows.

Which is the sea under the mountains
or a thirteen billion year old light ray.
Which is everywhere, like ancient snow.

Oh, but why didn't you say so?
You mean the house next door to the nothingness,
across the road from the flaming hospital,
by the exploding dancehall.

Where the carbon blobs happily dwell
and midnight barks like a dog.
Where the spectral sailors are knocking.

The house made of bones being broken.
The house of minds snapping.
The house where the World used to live,
until Tragedy stopped by for a while,
until Time spat out its toothpick.

I remember the blinds in the kitchen
coming down hard.
Like a fist on a table
or satellite crashing.
I remember there were walls in the cellar
and an angry lightbulb on all night.
With vast continents
hidden under its floorboards,
Mr. and Mrs. Chemical, long dead now,
rearranging the grassblades,
old toys still in the yard,
bejeweled in the glistening rain,
the roadway passing
filled with the children's lost voices:
like a skip-rope-rhyme
in my feverish mind.


    Copyright © 2008-2009 Bruce McRae, Victoria, BC, Canada.   All rights reserved

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