Poetry
by Phil Brown
The House, At Night
The house, at night
Is a lush forest
Of ordinary things.
Hunched in this dark world
I can call to mind
All loves.
I command all
That I have ever commanded.
I could become a cannibal now
In this musty jungle.
I could eat hair and lips and skin.
I might choke a little
And hair could tickle
On the way down.
Still, I would devour my prey
With relish,
By instinct.
The house, at night
Conjures such thoughts
Of Love
And culinary delight.
by Phil Brown
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