for sale

the house up the street is for sale
& i want my own little meat pie.
a place for the birds to come
if i want to feed them coins.
the house is always glowing orange.
i take a virtual tour & it's full 
of deer. deer heads & deer legs 
& living deer who are just there
to pay their respects. i gather all my quarters
& i know it will not be enough.
i don't want to own the earth
but i crave the quiet i feel from the photographs.
they say, "claim your bones."
it's as if the house is a time capsule.
a place to keep your nights safe.
i walk there. it's all the way at the top
of the hill where it seems like
the mountain parts into two green wings.
soon i will be too old to dream like this.
i wish i could put time into 
little coca cola bottles. blow on the rims.
i peer in the window.
the deer are watching television.
they notice me & scatter, frightened.
i try to tell them through the glass,
"i am just ravenous." i would eat
the walls if i could. i would devour
shingle after shingle. the house sells
before i can actually step inside.
a family without heads moves in.
i want to beg for it from them. tell them,
"you can't even look out the windows."
i will never make real peace with
the fact that we live in a world where
the soil is cut up like a tray of brownies.
here is your citadel. here is my porch
& the dead spearmint bush in a row.
once a week or so i see them. the deer.
they peer into my apartment
the way i gazed into their house. 
always startle me with those reflective eyes.
the mirror keepers. i open the front door
to try to tell them they can come
live with me. i am desperate for anyone else
to talk to about the house i did not get.
they are not there. just ribbons
of early autumn wind.