Phil Brown

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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