A New England Depression
January 4, 2010

Through the planks of the attic roots grope and tangle

An ode echoes into the halls

Down in the lower corridorsĀ  of creaking wind

Where the paint is chipped and the lamp shades erode

The equipment for emancipation is rusting

The catacomb echoes carnival laughs

Of a thousand black bagged eyes

And the spirits spiral in on themselves and eat the future

With the past in mind

The radiator clanks like the sharpening of a blade

A bone cold seeps through the window crack

And dim lights from the city stare

A million lonely hungry souls, casting shadows