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Mathieu Hotte


Brick Layer


Menacing thoughts invade this good
I thought I was cured.
Guess I missed the double blink,
of deceptions, 'sure'

Pessimist gesture from television,
I thought I changed the channel.
Guess its karma paying a visit,
infecting my precious cable.

Concrete legs and gravel hands,
is this my true reflection?
Sanities chisel above my head,
brick layer bows laughing.

His mixture hidden, outside relief,
a close friend supplies him.
A friend that tends to all his needs,
brick layers defensive.

This house almost completed,
my will grows weak,
brick layer's drive
thrives in me.

Karma on the television,
what else am I to do,
guess I'll watch an episode,
of 'what not to do'

Brick layer fetches his mixture,
from close friend, conscience.
Gives him state of mind in return
to keep me from asking.

In the confines of the basement,
with a television possessed,
I kneel on my concrete knees
and crawl towards the steps.

Beneath unfinished ceiling,
I see an opening.
Sanities chisel dangles,
left unattended.

Pushing myself up,
with heavy, gravel hands,
I grab the chisel brick layer left,
his king now in check.

Listening for a silence above,
holding breath within,
Brick layer is oblivious,
to his chisel breaking skin.

Cracking the concrete and gravel casts,
I stand on weary feet.
Regain my balance and dust my limbs,
of brick layers defeat.

Down the stairs, now at the door,
brick layer is frantic.
Deprived of purpose, and will to constraint,
his motives are desperate.

Laying his bricks in attempts to withhold me,
he knows it's his death.
His chisel, his king
betrays him once more,
and breaks his coward back.

No longer do I live below,
in the basement of mind.
A new occupant, now makes his home
in the basement, confined.

Brick layer can be heard at times,
yelling at the television.
Karma's reruns seem to bother,
any hopes of redemption.

Submitted: Friday, January 14, 2005

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Read poems about / on: television, concrete, friend, silence, house, home, death, hope, change

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