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Houses of the holy

‪Tired from rolling tires‬
‪uphill, but still…‬
‪Stunned by heart thump,‬
‪I’m sat flat, in the open garage,‬
‪on a summer chair,‬
‪watching chimney breaths‬
‪bellow and subside.‬
I’m thinking of all the real houses
fanned out in a matrix
on the slopes above me.
Their snowy rooves
with small ponds of molten black,
made by fickle bubbles of attic heat.
The houses, the rooves of snow,
and what floats above them.
And ah! What daydream!
One house is a piano house.
Children come and go there,
in clandestine cars,
to partake of the tuneful drug.
Their mother-teacher has piano teeth,
taut ham strings, and clockface glasses.
We met by accident.
She hit my car.
I keyed her piano.
We get along.

Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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