House of Cards
Johanna M. Geiger
Balanced delicately between damaged bookends,
our story begins.
delicious brown privately quaint. Picturesque, even.
Quietly pacifying the common phrases.
Ancient swimming – the breast stroke on hardwoods.
obsessive chest aching dizziness.
We have been walking in this wheezing misery,
laying bricks haphazardly along the way
Hey! Hey! Mister
I think someone owes me a sweater.
