Cosmos Girl

Cosmos Girl

Where's my girl
with her head in the stars
and her eyes
that are nova bright?

I went away
on an asteriod
far into space
to galaxy not far away.

I wonder
about that girl
and her black hole soul
hungry for more than the stars.

And now
I'm back home
and I wonder where she goes
perhaps she burned up in her blaze.

-Matthew Koutzun

My Thoughts are Not My Own

My Thoughts are Not My Own

My thoughts are not my own,
I think.

I hide them,
and still,
I think they can hear.

On the bus
they hear my rude comments.

As I look,
I see them,
just as they turn away.

I force myself to stop thinking,
I think.

But the very act:
trying,
has made me lose again.

Only when I forget these things
do I forget to think.

-Matthew Koutzun

They May Find You

They May Find You

Where did you go
that you could come back?
I thought I blocked the roads.

You crept on in-
in dreams of night;
where I am most still.

Back you came
like never gone
feeling like the norm.

But mid-dream I think
and realize
why I barred the roads at all.

Because I can't have this
and it's just not right
to be pulled back in again.

I'll remember you
and all you've done
and I'll have to forget again.

I've forgotten once.
I can't again.
I just don't have the strength.

So come on in,
and visit quick-
and then be on your way.

-Matthew Koutzun

Out There

Out There

If your out there,
and your hiding,
and your watching
please come out and find me.

I've heard your breathing,
and your weaving,
behind my back
and heat on cheek.

So if your out there,
and your fearing,
and disbelieving
believe I'm out here too.

-Matthew Koutzun

On the 26th

On the 26th

Laying in bed with the pillow against my chest
I begin to fluff it up.
A curve here,
a breast there.
Beat, long legs beside my side.

Oh, gift on the 26th, in the middle of the night,
why do you come to haunt me now?
Long hair, tied with tact
and brisk blue eyes
that smile right back?

My wanderings,
on the 26th ,
you do not let me hide.
If I wanted everything
nothing could I find.

Yet here I do have something,
and more over I want more.
Oh these things
that come and haunt me;
made from shadow and lore of more.

-Matthew Koutzun

On the 24th Evening of December

On the 24th Evening of December

"Do you know what we're getting him dear?
We still need something to him from Santa"

"I'm working on it-
The elves are still in contention."

-Matthew Koutzun

A word from our author...

A word from our author...

Please do not
take all I say
as pure gold.

Do not spin
it into tales
and say they
are apart
of who I am.

They are apart
and they are
also seperate.

They are my life
and they are my
dreaded lies of
what I have,
myself,
spun them to be.

So please do not
shift or think them
too far out of place.

Because, my dear,
that is my job.

-Matthew Koutzun

Please Tell Me

Please Tell Me

Please tell me you've noticed
the anger that undercurrents it all.
Through the jocular jests
and and clamourous kidding
that I build to save your pride.

Please tell me you understand
that you've asked too much
and I can't deliver
and the milk man always knocks twice
when the mice play and he can feed the cat.

Please tell me you're confused
by all I've just wrote
so I don't have to confess
all my shortcomings
and all of them that lie in you.

Please tell me you've forgiven
because it's all I can ask
because I feel-
care, I'm almost there-
they're the only things I ask of you.

-Matthew Koutzun

How Much

How Much

You say, "Jump,"
and I say, "How high?"

Then you say, "Leap,"
and I ask, "How Far?"

And then you say, "Love,"
and then I say, "How Much?"

Then you repeat me to "jump"
and I counter:
"How much faith do you have
that you'll catch me,
once I've jumped as high as I can-
and leaped as far as I can-
and have loved as much as I can?
Can you still catch me
after that: my fall?"

And you stop;
a hundred kilometers beneath me,
staring up at me,
perched on the edge-
you replying:
"I don't know..."

And we stand there a while
before I suddenly announce with a wink:
"I don't know about you,
but I sure hope your lips know CPR."

-Matthew Koutzun

Large Space Between Us (A Responce)

Large Space Between Us (A Responce)

"This large space between us is too much. It's bound to pull us apart sometime. I see it stretching each of our limbs as we hold hands across a continent."

"And is it any different than our tiny space? The one we conquered before. Was that one, how ever tiny, not the same as this?"

"How can it be? Distance or distance?"

"Oh little one. You knew how to crush a tiny space, but the larger space is not distance but time. It's tricked you with kilometers of land."

"I'm not little, nor foolish! This space is not my doing, or your doing, but our doing."

"We said we were ready to face this didn't we, after we beat the tiny space between us."

"Yes, but you didn't say long, only how far."

"Distance or time, what does it matter, when remembering: you are always there?"

-Matthew Koutzun

Revisiting That Mountain (5)

Revisiting That Mountain (5)

After promising to return,
you revisited the mountain.
The trails changes but the path the same.

Over rock and rubble,
and sin and trouble,
you made it back to the place you called once home.

And returning you grow warm
to the place you used to adore
the place raw and free it made you weep for more.

But it's changed
or is it still the same as it was?
Things are different of course, but the form is the same.

There's the rock
and there's the tree,
but gone is the hut of the home you remember.

How sterile it looks
and alone.



Until a tap at your shoulder:
might as well have been a boulder
that tore through your arm just the same.

And a smile and nod;
from the one you brought along
to show such a magnificent sight.

And they just like you
in this surrounding now confused
but they must agree that the path changed the view.

-Matthew Koutzun

When They Took You From That Mountain (4)

When They Took You From That Mountain (4)

No one would come you said,
it is a miracle you found the tip the first place you assured
when the knock came at the the door to the mountain.

You looked out from perfection
and could not see the light,
the grim figures hidden by their own shadows.

They rapped once more in impatience
you know why they're here,
they don't understand such alone beauty.

Now they're knocking down the door
and your crawling backwards from them on the floor
grasping the leaves and what's due from the morning.

And they've got you
and your clawing
and the Crows, ravens nevermore keep calling.

Your nails
in the floor
as they drag you swiftly out the door.

Taken from the home that you loved.

-Matthew Koutzun

When You Try To Leave That Mountain (3)

When You Try To Leave That Mountain (3)

Up on the hill,
nothing between you and the sky,
there's nothing to stop you or will.

All you survey
will all be yours one day
if you only give it all up right now.

And looking all around you
a smile in your heart
a heat in your hand
you can't recall when once you felt like this before.

The wind in your hair
and the soft in your eyes
the stone rocks in your chest taking flight.

It's where no one would come,
and yet here you are,
it's no place and yet it's your home.

-Matthew Koutzun

When You Reach the Top of That Mountain (2)

When You Reach the Top of That Mountain (2)

Stepping over rock and bound
you climbed up the mountain.


Hate in your heart
and stagnant love in your chest
you pushed on up the mountain.


And crystal streams yeilded water
and for them you did not stop
what a reward you thought for all the bad you done if you drank.


And pushing onward and up
over boulder and tree
tears flowed hot then steamed cold as you saw it.


Clear blue sky and pearl soft clouds.
You made it and now you are home.

-Matthew Koutzun

When You Climb Up That Mountain (1)

When You Climb Up That Mountain (1)

Swimming in the valley
with pure petals snagged in hair,
you never thought you'd climb the mountain.

You danced in Autumn sun
and pranced in Winter snow,
never knowing the the spring would bring a hot thaw.

Ate roses from the vine
and drank serpentine straight
everyday the last and never was.

But the Summer has come
the sweet girl's lies have been revealed
and the mountain calls a name for you and it's yours.

-Matthew Koutzun

Catch:Caught

Catch:Caught

I'm catching myself,
in moments like these:
losing myself,
my neck craning to the side,
a tingle in my thighs
an ache to push forward
and beyond.

And I catch myself-
Liar.
I think.
You are much too dramatic.
"This feeling is much too verbose to be real.
It's made up in your mind,"
the net says to me as it snatches such time I've had
and steals it away.

But I whine,
"What if it's real?
What if the dream's not a lie?"

"How foolish you are.
Things without force-
things without weight-
things without touch-
lies you've made up
you silly fool."

"But they do touch me here"
Placed hand.
"And they pressure press here"
A firm grasp.
"And they deliever a blow, solid, always here..."

"See and I don't understand that...
I don't supposed I ever will,
so what do I do now?"

"I guess you'll just have to do
what you're meant to:
catch me when I fall when and if I do."

-Matthew Koutzun

One of these Days

One of these Days

That boy is going to get hurt one of these days;
and if he's not careful it will be soon.

He's up on the ladder,
no one beneath him,
watching to make sure it's stable.


He's gonna fall one of these days;
if he's not careful soon.

Cause he's out into traffic,
not paying attention,
head always in a book.


He'll be gone one of these days;
because he's not careful.

Since he's playin' with hearts,
not watchin' his own,
it will turn on him when it breaks.

-Matthew Koutzun

Getting it Done.

Getting it done.

Getting it done
doesn't have to be a hard thing.
It doesn't even have to be a thing at all.

We trust in others to do
what we know ourselves
we can do.

And we wait for magic realignment
for things to be just right,
before we can even dare take a step.

But jump, and leap, and do!
It's not a thing, you can't trust others, and it won't align.
But hey, you knew that didn't you?

-Matthew Koutzun

Thanks Molly

Thanks Molly

Thank you for the money you gave me,
but thank you more for the time you spent:
to listen- hear- remember my story.
It was the moment we took with each other
how you stopped and we
con(re)versed.
How I watched you go, with a smile on your face
onward leaving me there
because I knew I had to stay.
the coffee keeps me warm
but less than other things.

Thanks,
Molly

-Matthew Koutzun

If you're found in the Ocean (3)

If you're found in the Ocean (3)

Hold,
be bold,
remember what you're told,
because you'll want to remember
how to get back to me again.

-Matthew Koutzun

If you're lost in the Ocean (2)

If you're lost in the Ocean (2)

Rip.
Tide.
Run.
Hide.
You can keep it.
Don't fear I'll take it back.
The time will come when you need it.
And so will the time when we can share it.

-Matthew Koutzun

If you're lost in the Ocean (1)

If you're lost in the Ocean (1)

Shifting.
Changing.
Rearranging.
Everything physical can and will wear.
But keep and covet a tiny place in time for me.

-Matthew Koutzun

The Lord of Small Gods

The Lord of Small Gods

You said I had an angel
who hung about my shoulders
and tries to make me a saint.


I could not find one about you.

Even though I thought I could
if only I looked at you and then them
from the corners of my eye.


I Still could not find one on the edge of your frame.

But then I saw it
from the base of your saucer
the tea cup rested on the plate.


I saw it- it entered and disappeared so quick.

Like a small ant crawling towards you
and gone in a blink,
Lord of the Small Gods is what you are I think.

-Matthew Koutzun

And That's Another Matter

And That's Another Matter

Safe and sounds
Fresh off the mounds
Soft and touch
Yet not too much

From not enoughs
To being to tough
Till endings come
Enough not from

Fill from begin

-Matthew Koutzun

I Envy the Singer

I Envy the Singer

I envy the singer
more than anyone else.
Voice born from a chest
with nothing more than air.

I'm jealous of their gift
of letting out
that burn, that rush,
from wanting to be heard.

It comes on the street to me:
a pressure,
in my lungs
freed in a scream- a song.

But I sound terrible
you wouldn't want to hear me;
there may be pressure
but surely not beauty.

So envy the singer.
Beauty in chest.
Sing on unhindered-
know that you're heard.

-Matthew Koutzun

Came Calling

Came Calling

The Devil called
and I came a calling
gliding
sailing
into sin so sweet.

And retribution comes
and it came to me
fierce
furious
and packaged as love.

-Matthew Koutzun

Under my Nails

Under my Nails

In the morning I'm in my own bed again.
It was warm and full of heavy heat
of nightmares and thoughts and disturbed sleep.
And I wake up and am languid for about an hour
till I bring my hand to my face again,
nails in my mouth and stench caught to my senses.

It can't be me and it isn't.

I smell the rest of my hands and it's no where but the nails.
I dig my teeth in under and scrape the loose flesh
and the deposits from underneath.
I spit them out and want to brush my teeth-
I know the damage has been done,
but I go to the mirror anyways.

It can't be me but it was.

-Matthew Koutzun

Pretend you Don't

Pretend you Don't

Don't
Pretend you don't,
please,
pretend you don't-
don't say anything
and pretend you don't
don't
for me.

-Matthew Koutzun

Dedicated to One

Dedicated to One

Not all
or many
or some,
but one.

One person
one mind
one thought
for you.

You know who
oh, yes you, don't
pretend you don't
know who you are.

Cause us artists
we can't stop creation
and us writers
can't stop writin'
it's a scent
we follow blind.

That's why
this is for you
why, it's only for you
why it's only for that I try.

-Matthew Kouztun

There is Silence in the Noise

There is Silence in the Noise

There is silence in the noise
a deafening one
of spaces

between

the beats beats beats


One that if taken together
not molded apart
makes spaces

between

beats longer longer longer


But take the beats
silent or noise
or space

and

have it all it all it all

-Matthew Koutzun

Lost Post

Lost Post

I thought you were gone
and lamented the work I had put into you.

I had strained
and captured,
lost the vision
and then recaptured
the essense of what I wanted to say when making you.

And then when I wanted to put you out
I did and then found you to be gone.

I had lost
and mourned,
had a vision
that cannot be recaptured
no way now to say what I wanted to say when making you.

And then I repaired and forgot
I thought I would never forget but I found I did.

Then I found you
refound you
had a past
that needs no recapture
archived away in a place I never dreamt you'd be.

But now you're here and you're now expressed
and I have you not long till I'll have another.

-Matthew Koutzun

This Post is actually based on the loss and revival of the poem I just recently wrote, lost, and found: "It's a Box". I had wrote the poem, and then as I press the publish button I received an error sign. It was the death of me. I had worked really hard on it!

I had had the idea for the poem since walking in the morning. I had forgotten how most of the structure and lines were to be by the time I made it to a computer so I had to push creativity to bring back the mood I had. I usually find it easy to hold a mood or idea in place but this one was more troublesome than most, vague in areas and fixed in others, so I had to rebuild at parts. What I came up with was a great poem which is now one of my quick favorites. Which is why when the error sign came I almost lost it.

A day went by and I thought, "well, usually when I'm tapped creatively I go back and look at past work." I find it easier that way because it really does set you back on the creative track you were riding then. And looking at my posts I saw it, marked "draft". Saved sporatically by the new blogger system! I am so happy now that it's back and the incedent inspired the poem I wrote now catching and analysing myself in the moment. So yeah... that was my little story of a little lost poem refound...

Poets

Poets

"At the touch of love
everyone becomes a poet,"
spouting merth and merry
to skies and to sea.

But "at the touch of love,
[for me, I too become] a poet,"
but such merth and merry buried
and the words conspire and delve inside.

For "at the touch of love
everyone becomes a poet,"
but lines and scenes
are none alike.

-Matthew Koutzun

It's a Box

It's a Box

It's a ruse.
It's a shame.
A little box
and all the blame.

It's commited.

It's formed.

Opening up

and your scorned.

It's a love

and it's wasted.

Painful mess-

romantics taste it.

It's a rage

and it's a truth,

and it builds

till there isn't any use.

It's a

conspiracy.

It's a

crime.

It's that dead ringer look

you got in your eye.

It's when you lost it

when you opened up

Pandora Box

unopened-

-reopened-

-ripped apart.

But it's opened

and it's used

torn to pieces

pulled, stretched, puzzled, pulled, held, caressed, told it's better, told they're worse, told of future, faced the past, blasted together, mashed away, and given sweet sleep.

And it's hopeful.

And it's last.

To come from a box:

broken-

recast.

-Matthew Koutzun

Coloured of Night

Coloued of Night

Lightness of step
and prism of colour
of one rich red hue
and the next powder blue.
Green splayed in the light
and of yellow wrapped in tight
of purple running off after you.

And of darkness delight
of turning off the light
a million rainbows
prismed; between me and you.

-Matthew Koutzun

This is actually the lightest I've written in a while. And it seems to sugar sweet. I think the blood has gone to my head as I write this sentence to hide the fact that I feel so good and have the artist intent that I should always feel bad. Artist's Pride of loathing is my downfall, been wondering why I shouldn't feel happy, and realize that I really always should. So hurrah for sugary sweetness. The only ones I apologize too are the diabetics.

Prism:Line / Prison:Bar

Prism:Line
Prison:Bar

Please tell me who coloured you
all those shades of violence.
Bruise purple
and tough pink?
Tough skin
and bruised pride?

Tell me who made you strong,
enough that you now don't cry.

Please tell me who coloured you
all those shades of pride.
Smolder red
and sturdy blue?
Sturdy ego
and smolder heart?

Tell me now who crippled both
so you now can't move; can't stride.

-Matthew Koutzun

Simply Put

Simply Put

Simply put:

I have nothing.
I have friends
family
a home
yet want more.

I have security
it what small quantities it is
and what I need to get by,
but have nothing.

Scrooge found this so himself
and find it I can not.

Simply put,
I'm tired.
Of searching,
of falling,
of failing,
and of calling.

And the boredom,
and the stagnation,
and the disposition to the deflation
of the ego that kept me strong.
Falling
Catching
Leaping
Calling.

Calling.
Calling.
Calling.

Simply put
I call out
and a million helpful answers come.
But simply put-
it's me who won't decide.

-Matthew Koutzun

Oh, My Misery Love

Oh, My Misery Love

Oh, I know it's there;
I know, I remember it there,
that deep down inside me misery love.
The hate and bile filled dream
of sadness and soliloquy
my deep down inside me misery love.

It's been years since I've had it
and these days I demand it
that deep down inside me misery love.
And if I could fish I would bait it
once it I have it I hate it
my deep down inside me misery love.

And they all say I'm crazy
for loving my hurtful filled baby who gives me
that deep down inside me misery love.
And I'll take much more
than all the sweet things I could adore for
my deep down inside me misery love.

Matthew Koutzun

I don't know what it is, but I find myself wanting that love that makes us crazy and sad. I want to be depressed and longing, and have tears come a calling, and pine for a love that won't come.

Covet and Wane

Covet and Wane

Goodnight sun, goodnight moon-
you know you love the day,
as much as you covet the night.

And one comes after the other,
regardless of which you love,
so have both- wax and wane with each.

Matthew Koutzun

1907-2007

1907-2007

I am here
inside, before my time they call us,
since we don't seem real yet even though
we've lived nine months.
Life not counted until breath.

I'm here,
the school
my first.
Nerves that I can't stand
standing on end
be cajoled by all my siblings-
younger-
pushing me out the door.

I am here,
at home,
they've denied me to walk 4 miles to school.
I walk them on the field as I watch
smaller footsteps to move foward.

I am here,
Mother is crying
and Father is silent,
water spilled on the ground,
and one of us gone,
we leave in the morning.

I am here
they haven't sent me on the berg yet.
They told me that's where grandma would go
before she died
now that we moved to Canada-
Years I was scared into believing.

I am here
Believing and crying
and crying to believe,
and we went to the place
where the believers cry
and believe.
And we travelled home from that place
it was Easter.
Blood in mouth,
on my dress,
it made me dizzy,
the body: dough-
never helped.

I am as I lay,
the last. Years from then
and on the berg I pass.
And hand from hand I'm carried,
a wave like wave
to the boat home.

I am home,
Home was a boat across the ocean I once believed.
But a hundred years later.
Home only means
up.

Matthew Koutzun

Where?

Where?

Did you disappear?
On plane, by car?
By some comment made from afar?
There is such thing as happenstance
and that of plutonic romance.
So give a fuckup a chance?

Matthew Koutzun

When They Broke the Chick's Egg, A Mirror to Hold

When They Broke the Chick's Egg,
A Mirror to Hold

Looking at myself in the mirror
I see myself younger than I really am.
Soft brown hair,
falling finely on soft brow,
over shallow deep eyes,
that have seen nothing, but much.
Two lips, the bottoms full from biting,
the top thin from inexperience,
although never lacking.
Light bleached skin,
touched only by flouresants,
and high cheeks of expectancy.

I rush to my bed and hide under the covers.
I want to be 16 again,
and feel nothing- over or around me.
I throw the sheets off of me to relinquish the feeling,
and then smuggle them back on
for the security and fear I find underneath.
And they come for me calling,
"come back,
no fear- no foul to be had hiding."
I peek at monsters run amuck
and know I'll join them soon;
eventually.

-Matthew Koutzun

Taking Seconds.

Taking Seconds.

After taking the first bite,
there is the moment of immense flavor of new experience.
And after the second,
there is one of loss and gaining:
loss of the fresh beginnings on the tounge-
the gaining of fullness in yourself.

Matthew Koutzun

Meal

Meal

I've realized that the hollow feeling inside me is not loneliness.
Just hunger.
No wonder I'm so skinny and my genitals are chaffed all over.

Matthew Koutzun

Pressed Against the Fourth Wall

Pressed Against the Fourth Wall

She sits and waits,
and entrevous he does.

He talks
and baits,
and she disconcerned waits.

And now she's up and about,
in a box- all blacked out;
timing will keep this game alive.

Now he yells
now he screams;
and drama: she does as well.

And he hits
and she slaps
and the audience all clap.

And she turns
and he does to
and they look at me and you.

And they stare
now they cry
and they run at the glass between them you and I.

And pressed against the fourth wall
they want out-
to be with us all.

To stop imaginary hates
and lonesome debates.

A hand on the glass;
red- white where pressure press.

-Matthew Koutzun

Forcing to Keep

Forcing to Keep

I'm trying to relate
from somewhere between her thighs.
Taking, reaching in
such great highs.

I've punched through
and I've touched the child.
Caressed a face
soft and mild.

I've gotten my shoulder in
and I'm going to go all the friggin' way.
I don't care if it's wrong-
never cared what others say.

My head and torso
squeezed right into the moist deep.
She sighed sweetness
no sound of pain did she peep.

I'm kicking in the air
as my thighs press against hers
fighting to get in
skin in tears.

My feet in
I'm in with my boy.
He's cradled by my womb-

I know now why woman cry
when they give it away.

-Matthew Koutzun

A Refusal of Reality

A Refusal of Reality

It's bubbling up again,
that feeling of antisipation
or rather
the sick taste of anxiety.
It comes to me in hot flashes
when the world sneaks up and
the face of faceless deeds shocks me into
deadline awareness,
of things that just have not been done
nor accomplished.
It's a hot coal bath of steam
and suffocation to my chest
as thoughts of non-completion
and scared compliance follow.
I have lots of time but still I know:
it seemed like that before.
Jump on now before the horse gets away.
Take me away horse-
that's what I've always wanted.
Wind in my face so I can breathe
and steady step, sure and shallow.
Open up pasture of precious peonies,
and let light leap from lazy days.

-Matthew Koutzun

Porcelain on Colour

Porcelain on Colour

A bed with light blue
and pastel yellow sheets
hiding and combing against skin.

Plush pillow
flattening flax hair
against brow and cheek.

Cool colour
and harsh light
luminosity to the extreme.

Bright trinkets
all in a row behind
a porcelain woman dry against them.

She looks to her
and her to she in bed
and they know their story.

-Matthew Koutzun

I Know of a Place

I Know of a Place

I know of a place
where young men go
to hide their shame,
and if you love me
you'll make love to me there.

-Matthew Koutzun

I Know of a Place Where Young Men Go to Hide Their Shame: And if You Love Me You'll Make Love to Me There

I Know of a Place Where Young Men Go to Hide Their Shame:
And if You Love Me You'll Make Love to Me There

I know of a place
where young men go
to hide their shame.

My friend once told me that
he hid it in his big toe,
that if you slammed it hard enough
you'd see him cry-
not from the pain
but the guilt that would leak out.

I've looked for it there
and all I can find
is flesh
and more flesh
and further enough
you can reach the bone.

-Matthew Koutzun

Our Unknown Girl

Our Unknown Girl

There was a story of a girl they found
dead
in her apartment.
They said that she had been there for months
laying on a clean mattress
now dirty from the decay
and mold
and shit
rotting from her bones.
They found her because a woman had sad she smelt something
she had reported the smell almost two months before they checked.

The girl knew no one they said,
her neighbours didn't even know they had neighbour
and no family nor phone to call her with.
In a room
On a floor
In her own private hovel,
in a nice part of london.
The girl should have friends.

They cleaned her up-
tossed her out.
Buried,
or cremated-
who knows;
no one knew her.
All she had left was the mattress
and her laptop
plugged in
the screen fryed from months of pixels burning.

And the police took it
for a motive.
There might be something
the unknown girl left behind.
The girl with no one to know.

And they took out the hard drive
and connected it to another screen
and when they turned it on
everything from when she had stopped
was still working-
stopped in it's own tracks.
And what the police saw made them cry
and made them sick.

Hundreds of open little windows
with a million little chatters still chatting with her
some still talking,
others miffed had gone away.
Love interests,
companions,
friends,
no family.
She had them all by the ton
each one of them half way around the world.

The room had been 8 meters by 6,
but it held the earth once.
And on each little window
of the ones still typing
were more windows
and more people
and more windows
and more people looking through more windows
to find people on the other side-
halfway around the House.

And they reached in and caressed the heads
of wantons
of faggots
of housewives
of butchers,
of children
of fathers,
of players,
and of murderers.

And they found a full house all through one window,
turned it off
and walked away.

-Matthew Koutzun