It's Still Life

A House of Sticks and Straw

There’s a place in my head where
I sing to myself. Talk to myself.
A space for my very small voice.
I’m loud and bold inside my head,
but in truth I’m a half empty cup
pretending that I’m half full. And,

carrying a tune is no small thing.
It’s up there with diving off
the end of a pier, which I’m
never likely to do. Water, water,
tempting with its half promises.
Half full. Half empty. Half alive.

Its bottom vanishing into a lost
reference point, like milk dripping
off the kitchen table. Just sticks
and straw. It’s rather like love,
and then along comes the wind
and blows your house down.

Twiglet #112 “in the key of C” and dVerse Open Night