John Pistelli

writer

The Kingdom of Satan, 1985

Back in the suburbs it is always autumn.
The leaves perfume the lawns with wine as they turn.
We share only our holes and our bones in common.

Husbands like leaves get shriveled and rotten;
Like leaves, before they fall they burn.
Back in the suburbs it is always autumn.

The wives form committees to blazon the problem
Of schoolbooks perverse with the wet of the learned:
We share only our holes and our bones in common.

Children wear faces less scary than solemn,
With blood-streaks like tears and funereal horns.
Back in the suburbs it is always autumn.

Frost-headed teenagers perish of boredom
Across leather-bound cushions, blazingly spurned:
We share only our holes and our bones in common.

They say the cathedral has fallen where Christ was the column:
Now televised legions devour what we’ve earned.
Back in the suburbs it is always autumn.
We share only our holes and our bones in common.

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This entry was posted on 1 October 2014 by in literature, poetry, writing and tagged , , , , , , .
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