Because this morning sky stared strangely upon me.
Because for me the birds no longer sing
(In fact, they avoid my presence, fluster
Away as I wander near their sullen perches).
Because these buildings hold their redbrick breaths
Whenever I, evicted, touch their silent stone.
Because the ground grows vaguely insolent beneath my feet
(I’m certain I heard a fuzzy snickering).
Because the dirty, still-empty pool
Threw the ripped-up calendar in my face.
Because the clothes go round and round
In a nervous sort of tumble.
Because this wall is yellow, as is my shirt,
But I haven’t seen the sun for years.
Because all your houses have come adrift,
Ballooning into the cloudy, sudden noon,
Stringing their plumbing and wires beneath,
Shadows of nerves, of fierce and former lives.
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