I’ll build you a dreamhouse,
Where you can live, where you’ll be safe.
(Steven Mackey-“Dreamhouse”)

 
In a house you built in the dark,
it is impossible to witness light.
Only the pool, behind the shed,
bays naked at the moon, which
shivers matte on dry cement.
Ill music curls mid-air, like
horseflies sensing ripe gangrenes.
For the foundation to survive,
each passing storm, each evil eye,
the tale tells of a furtive sacrifice.
A woman, preferably with child,
must walk by choice inside the
fresh, thick wall and sing as bricks
cover her slowly in her home.