Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Page 56

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Earl M.
In a Dead Manor
John Grey
I lose what I have never loved:
dead flowers, brown grass.
crumbling high walls,
the rot of trees
scarred like frozen scowls,
the unhinged clapping clapboards,
the cracks in the roof where rain drips through.
I love what I have never known,
the young girl on the verge of womanhood,
for all the wash of silken hair,
half-open mouth, surprise of eyes,
the image unclear, unstable,
struggling against years and shadow,
grave-yard soil and stones.
I know what I will never lose,
the brackish thoughts,
the clouded heart,
the body bound and broken
to window chair,
in cruel demented covenant.
Decaying man,
putrefying house,
moldering memory —
we got this way through living.
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