Fire

                                                Q: what did you do, with your Sunday? 

today i set fire
to
the entire room.

(accidentally/on purpose)

they say flames are the best way
to exorcise a
demon
the oldest ones die hard - lingering
around corners
and in between folded pages of
paper spent planning
new versions of self
well - self plus other
well, you plus I
papers i should have flushed down that same well where i
wished away my worth -
on pennies that some how summed to millions of
pounds of my flesh.

i let you build a house in my heart
brick by brick stained in
sex and
topped with rusted shingles -
sex/brick + water/tears + tin = the rusted,bloody house
that our love built.
you (all) took your time - so long that i barely noticed
what was happening until you had
hung photos (of yourself) on the walls.
well, don't you look comfortable.

(take your feet off my couch !)

but this heart, is not your home
just a house built with spotty craftsmanship at best -
you never paid much attention to the details.
let me take
a sledge hammer to it.

(no. wait.)

today i set
fire to the room.
i set fire to the fragments of
you
that lay lingering in the house you built
but you know, a house, is not a home.
at least, not for you, any more.

I used to say love was like friendship on fire.
fitting, with that same flame,
i finally send what's left of you on your way. 

                                        A:  oh you know, not much, just cleaned the house.