In The Theatre of Bisecting Lines

Winter ~ Anton Semenov

In houses haunted
By choirs of corroding kitchen knives
In houses inhabited
By the stories of our lives

Here the hired hands
Occupying inward-looking rooms
No vista here but curtain-calls to gloom
Here the hired hand untied but shackled still
To the flickering light that numbs but doesn’t kill

In houses haunted
By ghosts of children corralled chastised
In houses inhibited
By the stories of our lives

Here the heavy handed
Healing hearts in over-heated rooms
No respite from the clock that chimes too soon
Here the heavy heart addicted to the kill
In the flickering light - numbed but beating still