The House-person

[CRNDLSM]

Interesting

They felt sugared bruises
ache inside their thighs - I lost track of this until the end
emblems of the 
crush
against picket-lines - 
and artists' scars 
along the tunnels of their throat,
places where protests
had opened up the flowers of their flesh. I don't like all the of the of their of filling time

And when a rope
encircled
them, slid around their waist,
it wasn't over, 
altogether. 
For a time they were
entwined,
they and that rope,
trailing one another along roads which,
once out of sight, 
amassed dust by the truckload.  Really like this strizophe 

But no-one understood
when It got stuck in their eye,
when they wrestled with their lashes
till the jelly leaked and lost its flavour, nice jelly leakage
begged this rope
with the full moon in their shaking voice,
implored comprehension of the 
itch 
for noise, clamour,
but knew each time 
they were lost in translation. Lost in translation cliche

At the end of that rope
they found marigolds, 
yellow, tight, rubbery. Interesting interjection 

They wore them wryly, 
at first, 
but it wasn't long before
the skin between the fingers
tinged, 
before laundered clothes tumbled out of closets
yellow
where they'd once been black. See I've completely forgotten about the legs, kinda lost spinning but maybe that's your intent

And the rest went by
without being seen,
not even felt. 

The years turned over like a 
sick dog. Why a sick dog? Not sure they really behave this way uniformly 

That ache in the thigh
was found one day to be 
rheumatism
from a million hours with sofa cushions, 
and where once they yelled,
smiled as they hallooed, and I don't really like hallooed 
they only rose for a 
dishwasher, slashed in the sale. Dishwasher sale? Laundry, marigolds, throat tunnels, truck loads, full moons, I think I might just not get it