Empty 

Stand outside the night club.
Look at its Christmas lights,
filling July with bourbon.
Stale breezes disturb  
vacant surfaces. Drafts of light
squirrel past bouncers.
In its swelling decay you recognize 
structures of a past, 
foundations from a once-rotting future. 
You move through its halls as a 
submarine captain, surveying sunken lives. 
Every life is vacant yet the
emptiest one is yours. 
Specks of attic noise 
crackle unheard through 
sleepless dance floors.
Standing houses fall.
Their emptiness churns with 
slowing memories of 
happiness gone mad. 
Doors, forced open, exhale 
shadows of flats and gush.
Memory becomes stain. 








Empty Discos 

Standing outside the night club 
You look at its Christmas lights.
They fill July with bourbon.
Hot breeze disturbs the 
vacant place. Drafts of light
squirrel past the bouncers.
In its swelling decay you recognize 
structures of your past, 
foundations of a rotting future. 
You move past its halls as a 
submarine captain, surveying sunken lives. 
Every life is vacant yet the
emptiest one is yours. 
Mystery specks of attic noise 
crackle unheard through 
sleepless dance floors.
Houses still standing have fallen. 
Their emptiness churns with 
slowing memories of 
happiness gone mad. 
Doors, forced open, inhale 
shadows of flash and gust.
Memory becomes stain. 







Empty Rooms 

Standing outside the dark house 
I look into its windows,
filling silences with bourbon.
A hot breeze disturbs the 
vacant place, curling drafts of light. 
The building would frighten one who 
knew it less than I. 
In its swollen decay I recognize 
structures of my past and 
foundations of a rotting future. 
I move through the halls as a 
submarine captain surveys sunken ships. 
Every room vacant yet the
emptiest room is mine. 
Mystery specks of attic noise that 
crackled into my sleepless youth do 
not concern me now. I am grown. 
The house, still standing, has fallen. 
Its emptiness churns with 
slowing memories of 
happiness gone mad. 
Doors, forced open, inhale 
shadows of wind and light.
Memories become stains which,
by decree of this family tourist, shall 
be preserved with thinnest lament.






The room was empty. 
I stood outside the dark house, 
looking through its windows, 
listening to hot breezes disturb the 
vacant structure with drafts of light. 
The building might frighten one who 
knew it less than I. 
In its swollen decay I recognized 
structures of my past and 
frameworks of a drifting future. 
All spaces emptied I found the 
emptiest room was mine. 
I moved through halls in the style of a 
submarine captain surveying sunken ships. 

Mystery specks of attic noise that 
raided my nights of sleep do 
not concern me now. I am grown, 
the house is falling, its empty rooms 
swirl with slowing memories of 
happiness gone mad. Doors pushed open inhale 
shadows of wind and light.
Shadows become stains which,
by decree of this family tourist, shall
be preserved in thinnest lament.







The room was empty. 
I stood outside the dark house, 
Looking through the windows and
listening to hot breezes disturb this 
vacant structure with drafts of dank light. 
The building might frighten one who 
did not know it as well as I.
In its hoary decay I recognized the 
structure of my past and the
framework of my future.
All the rooms were empty but the
emptiest of them all was mine.
I move through the halls like a 
submarine captain surveying a sunken ship. 
Mystery specks of attic noise that 
raided my nights of sleep do 
not concern me now. I am grown, 
the house is falling, its empty rooms 
wail with damply flowing memories of 
laughter gone mad. Those doors cast 
shadows, shadows of wind and light.
The shadows become stains which, 
by decree of this family tourist, 
shall be preserved in thinnest lament.





Dark house.
I stand inside.
Mystery specks of noise
do not concern me.
Not now.
I am grown.
Doors thrown open,
their shadows -- cast by
unbroken cobwebs -- are
moldering stains which,
by decree of the
family tourist,
must be preserved in
thinnest lamentations.