the attic--7/9/09

This is a prose poem I wrote last night. As they say in the Wall Street biz, I'm "diversifying my portfolio". Let's power lunch.
-d
***

The Attic

Step inside. We are two mushrooms exhaling our green smoke. Here, things come in pairs
Two arms that will twist into you like vines over bicycle handlebars. Two empty bowls that
once held the meager cuisine of bohemians. Two sets of eyes that stare out of the hollows
of shadows. The macabre mother whose feet we kiss in the psychedelic armpit of mid-summer.
Step inside, but mind the broken glass and rusty nails jutting from the floorboards. Mind the
fleecy darkness and cold light. Mind our cat (she is a madwoman) Mind the dust on our stolen
board games. Mind the ghosts that hover in the soft jutting of our hips and the gaps in our teeth.
One day, maybe two, a swarm of bees had a wild family reunion in our skylight. They lost
themselves in the outlandish sunlight and fell to their death. The Icarus family Thanksgiving,
a ritual to the jealous sun god. I swept those foolish boys into the dustpan and went to work.