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Overloading the Machine
Loved Poem No. 3
quoting Matt Langley
"set out from color"
but found a boundary
at best, a fallen fence
at worst, weeds grown
at heart,
in our hands
there stood difference
the same under
a dive, a swim,
a pocket full
of flailing house keys
pairs of prankster
car keys we didn't hide
well enough
but we went far
from a certain date,
we may never—
made it
look shiny, past dents
spit and polish,
all the troubles
smearing by
against a fence but maybe
time, no guards to say,
step there, that's
the wrong way
hoarse with certainty
I knew—
I know
but where we started
a shoulder overlooked
the pattern we see,
"set out from color."
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of
absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream.
Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness
within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more.
Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and
doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone
of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.
-- Shirley Jackson, "The Haunting of Hill House"
This page was last modified on 2011 December 20. "Loved Poem No. 3" by John Sullivan is Copyright ©2003 - 2011, and licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.