Beleura Hill Dreams, Beleura Hill Blues...

I'm howlin at my memory ordinary in its ability but painful in its variety

I'm howlin at the blue door, the rusted iron above the back porch

Bellua Hill dreaming waking mice under the creaky floorboards

walking to the kitchen where canaries hatched everyday on the windowsill

I miss cicadas singing for their unborn babies

the instinctual rituals before the hollow carcass crunches under my bare foot

my all day telepathy with Sophie and her third story spiral perch

like some sort of birdcage of the coast

I think my first love was you and our white tile shadows

when windy in the bamboo, the sounds devoured monsters wanting my body

I miss the fernery, shrubbery, my summery secret forestry, where the shade kept my milk cold

how often a Craven A was craved in the bedroom by my day seat of surveillance

but the monks never came outside, the cypress helped them hide

attentions drawn to clawfoot dresser of pre-war thoughts

all my summers melted into one photo of my father in the sun

the ocean whispering through his hair shirtless

like the bust of a stone statue pulled from the ocean depths of Crete

ascending to some alter over my forehead

or to lecture from his lectern through a portal with special headphones

buried in the shed where daddy long legs lived, the cobwebs scared me

I only ever scraped the surface through pennies and flathead screws

next to the burgandy Merc with the cow I was used to

a cracked dartboard held together only by dust ready to explode after a thousand punctures

the tackle  the rusty hooks  the fishing books

which rod was Franks, which one was Daves? I wanted the uncle I never met

I never knew him back then, the phantom of Cape Otway chasing rain and waves

my East Coast Buddha of the sea!

my stoic kin wise in medley who doesn't wear a watch

since that night, since it stopped

my emeralds lived in this house

my welsh my dane my british blood passed through the halls

the breath of my reason absorbed by the walls

I still remember the blue door

entrance to the throat of my universe concentrated to human scale