9 of 30 Elegy for 1368 Norfolk

You will not die, though the ash of the burnt piano
grow briars, though the pipes clot with dirt
the well fills with toads
and your cement blocks rot like teeth.
You are my shame, my embarassment
holes in the bathroom walls,
the wet black mud beneath the floors
a king of rats, indissolvable knot I drag you behind me.
Still they post mail at your address.
You habitation of devils, you vulture's cage,
sunken city and carrion
Your grass still grows green as a graveyard.

Today i clawed a phone from the wall,
screamed when your name was conjured with.
You foulness, you black tar lung
you are the soft black spot at my core,
you worm in the wood
you frost-blighted plum tree.
I am a broken house, my siding falling off
my sodden carpet and rotten couch
my rats, my wasps, my tongue is a hangman's knot
and my father hangs at the end of it
the clapper for my hollow bell
you have your way inside me
and i see you crawl beneath the skin,
you sink full of maggot
you attic of fucking raccoons
my guts rattle with your grease
your stink comes through my skin,
black socks and zest soap
coke ovens and anger

I am burned down and rotten
past wrath and sorrow
I am dead wood and foxfire,
the collapsing septic tank, this rusting shed
and you, specter of all my specters
you eat your canned sardines and live
though the innocent die,
you sit alone at the funeral
you buyer of caskets
you polyester suit
what will my children say of me
in twenty years?
My heavy hand, the table,?
my shouting, my wrath.my accidents and my apologies?
what black thing did you bargain with,
what squats on your bloodline, what spider, what owl

you fixer of broken machinery,
you yellow toothed smiler
how i hate this face of yours i wear
your awkward dance, your thin tongue of a belt
they seat you at their table, they pour you milk
you trashman picking at bad dreams,
you weedy lot and burnt foundation
you motherfucker, you nightmare

i would burn this house to the ground again
to drive you from me,
I would burn , just to be rid of you