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My Blue House (Rewritten)

I see the blue house my blue house
at the end of the street in the middle of
the t-section, its right angles
guiding me home. I step inside
the screen door hisses closed
the tile touches cool to my feet
except for the grout in between,
black and warm.
But time has broken this lock,
its forced entry
forcing me to gather my things
this quickened pace these aging faces
taking these white hallways
my years turned
to black and white stills
photographed, killed,
lining the last steps
as if to say

nothing old can stay.

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Comments  
denisedee Comment by: denisedee - 2006-02-12 06:55
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Don't we all?

Glad I could help. I'm enjoying your work.
Comment by: - 2006-02-12 06:36
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ahh I LOVE good feedback, so right Denise. I find that I have an irrational attachment to my own words (narcissistic might be a good way of putting it =P) so it makes it hard to be objective. Ending on "nothing old can stay" is much better as well, it actually drives the point home more than the entire next stanza heh. Thanks again.
denisedee Comment by: denisedee - 2006-02-12 06:25
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nothing old can stay - like that twist on frost- how would you feel about it as the title?

the rhythm for me was careening like going through a fun-house in a car not knowing what i would see next. love the tactile and sensousness of this poem.

Not sure you need:

'this blue carpet turned plain
your departure near, your return
I fear, impossible.
The cold tile shows me the door
"you can't stay here, anymore"
this quickened pace, these aging faces -
taking these white hallways
by surprise.'

It's implied quite beautifully in the other stanzas.
1
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