basement rattle

down here in the homemade cloud
alone door shut and the dog barks on the other side
new year thoughts split like wood under ax
first person poetry heard all around
nothing new just constantly improved upon
time reels back a punch to the throat
layer after layer building like a carpenter in Brockton
one foot sideways 24 north or south dead end highway
go around instead out the back door
around the house in through the front
interrupted poetry broken by time lapses
who could tell with that hell of a basement rattle
the clock faces stares at eyes watery
from the cloud bubble transaction
transformation into first thought
progeny a sort of metamorphosis
no eye witness eye in smoke
in lungs in the coffee basement rattle
too loud and someone shuts the door
always a little cooler downstairs even in the summer
humidity or cold winter freeze
sister gone south to the equator
the sun will cook her skin
getting lost in the green felt like this before
sitting at this pool table as a desk
too right or to write regardless
day or night said it all before...