the fireplace beat life into the house
"my nightmares have come true!" she screamed
with her hands in her orange hair.
"everything is personified!!" a quick
look found truth in her very statement.
the table was breathing food. giant clumps of
meat covered in gravy, erupted into the carpet. not to mention
dancing beads of light doing a two step
on the windowsill. such as it is it remains
unclear who was attacking the telephone to make it
convulse on the table shrieking in pain. and still
there was the matter of the running water that lapped the kitchen,
yawning portals that had bad breath,
carpet that rose with a shaggy gentle hand
sopping up the spontaneous sounds of the parlor,
a place where white walls formed unions of picture hangers.
unsure of her next move and startled
by friendly interior design handing her
coffee every fifteen minutes fluffing
every pillow every ten, making
insight seem certain
she saw a flaw in the poet's plan.
the poet who lived in the guest bedroom whose
pen brought life to these domestic abnormalities whose very
thoughts bled into the skeletal frame of the house,
beating through drywall and wood only to release the home from its slumber.
she arranged the lighting in an effort to
seduce him and bid him
"cease personifying my humble abode!" the house
so friendly following the woman's last statement,
offered the poet some dinner, some clothing, some
rich gelatin desert. and utilized its
daunting dust covered attic and
all the furniture that turned evil when the lights went out
to intimidate this woman whose nightmare became:
living with hatboxes that talk and bite,
walking in shag carpeting riddled with carnivores,
sleeping with poets,
listening to poetry.
Copyright 1999, Dennis Brumirski
A relatively obscure poet from the southwest side of Chicago, Dennis is currently pursuing an M.A. in Creative Writing at Columbia College Chicago. He has a Bachelor's Degree in Corporate Communications, and works as a Customer Relations Officer for an Internet Design Company.