Now that that's out of the way,

I can hear the thin
noise of a Smiths song
seeping through my walls,
like a memory.

And night's murmurs
reach me through windows,
which tonight for
once I looked out of,

But nothing and everything
were interesting to see,
So I lay back and conversed
with a canine, and the wind
broke into my chimney to
reassure me wind exists.

I looked at my body in
the glass above my mantle.
Truly looked into my pores
And found this shack is tilting
in a field of dancing grass.
Whatever that means to you,
I'm in need of rebuilding.

I have, to some extent, rebuilt.
But work is to be done;
I am beginning.



I'm cheesy. You'll have to deal with it. Yes, I write poems about things like quitting Facebook. I'm that guy. Get over it. You silly goose.