in the oak at home

by blake ellington larson

there is a hole i have not ashed in

beside the lamp-post and the bed sheets
two red blinkers monitor my sleep

their sole concern
i do not question

in the sink
the rust is vengeful

it eludes me from the night
and into the morning

the christmas lights too
stare in on my inconveniences

they throttle and blur
the real connections

i have made with the floors