I Was An Important House That Day
Published by Book Machine
With Kyle Branchesi
I am a house that grows up not knowing it is a house at all; a house so removed from the
domestic life I wouldn’t know where to start.
I am a house that mimics all the other things I see, that is spiny, springy, or bendy, or whatever else fits the mood. I am a house that survives an axe wound and spends its days happily split in two.
I am a house that peels open to reveal a marble treat, loaded with potassium.
I am a house that spills out the windows when full of water and offers a respite for the sea
I am a house straight out of a monster movie, after hitting the ground at alarming speeds. I am a house that is stepped on like a bad bug and still makes room for a decent kitchen island.
I am a house that finds pleasure in the actions of its brethren objects, that jumps and jives
and does the splits. I am a house of a thousand dances.
I am a house that twirls upwards like a pig’s tail, after combing out the loose bricks.
I am a house that slips into the sidewalk without any starch, which fractures like an egg,
which is craggy and articulated as an ageless artifact, or left alone for who-knows-how-long to break in two and develop smaller versions of itself on the inside.
I am a house that bends and tosses and turns and everything all else. I am a house that flattens and takes off like a wayward carpet. I am a house that grows chimneys and divides its roofs.
I am a house that can guarantee your boat won’t budge on the water. I am a house that
conceals a nation on the other side.
I am a house of walking pipes and plumbing under the floorboards. I am a house of growing pains.
I am a house that proves the architect’s hand always goes beyond the surface.
I am a house that lies somewhere between the bottom of silent seas and an airborne mirage.