This house understands poetry, insomnia and egregores: rooms bricked in the basement, roof open to the stars.
This labyrinth; guarded by the dream-beasts of the poets: foxes with beaks, does with sharp teeth, seduces you with charm and glamour.
Even under relentless blue skies you will long for rain-washed slates. Drops of water hanging from the gutters will try to pull you home. You will dream of shadow-trees rushing through the darkness. The moon’s face covered by high, racing clouds.
But you will never live like common people
The clock licks time so slowly here they grow old imperceptibly, can never leave, until someone of equal value takes their place.
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Common People
This house understands poetry,
insomnia and egregores:
rooms bricked in the basement,
roof open to the stars.
This labyrinth;
guarded by the dream-beasts of the poets:
foxes with beaks,
does with sharp teeth,
seduces you with charm
and glamour.
Even under relentless blue skies
you will long for rain-washed slates.
Drops of water hanging from the gutters
will try to pull you home.
You will dream of shadow-trees rushing through the darkness.
The moon’s face covered by high, racing clouds.
But you will never live like common people
The clock licks time so slowly here
they grow old imperceptibly,
can never leave,
until someone
of equal value takes their place.
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