The Cult of Domesticity
by Cam M. Roberts
A dead tree under the November overcast.
© Cam M. Roberts, 2013.
All
the night
pray tell me
you will stand
still in reverence
near the clean canvas
off its easel we overturned.
Almost lifeless, mostly dead:
Exhausted by everything
while vulnerable to nothing.
Laid out flat upon the floor:
A common doormat,
so simple that it lacks
such libelous words as
Welcome [what Novelty!
what Luxury!] by the threshold –
Mere generic decorum.
It will all soon be gone.
So says I – The Fallen Idolater.
A wild and witless trifle.
One would be better off to burn some incense
wherefore you begin to scatter rose petals
upon a stifling pile of shit.
An anomaly in exile
either stranded on a porch
or lonely upon the vast linoleum –
A clandestine island banished from the archipelago.
We can’t afford such words
without a home to desecrate.
I’ve never been in tandem
with their sacred emblems –
I am my own Totem.
Ubi sunt 
The reality of what the world is hiding under the pretentious cloak of fake beauty. Sometimes it stinks so much, you cant hide it even with coco channel.
Reblogged this on yasniger and commented:
Lovely poem to start the year with….
Blessings & Grace to you.
Pastor Bryan J. Kizer
Christlike Ministries NWA
“My love be with you all in Christ Jesus.” (1 Cor 16:24)
http://www.christlikeministriesnwa.com