A Delirious Corner

Is it really a home I remember?
Or a life so drab and unremarkable
Where affections and tenderness are reserved
Between the man, the woman and the son

I only remember the corners
Secured with a sense of gnawing and spite
About a crypt for memories inside
Of a past coarse, dreary and livid

I consent nothing but a melancholic sign
Of standing in a corner of the room
Filled with shattered china and split walls
But these sporadic visions are guided freely
By this torment and salutary memory

I remember this whole dance
Between standing and hiding in corners
By dreaming for better years
Being safe in my delirious border

I remember its turgid edge
Rounding about its intended project
Drained away of blood and strength
Of a sight always and the same

I laugh at these regards now
About the constitutive home but
Without which I am utterly alone



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