portion of the artwork for Peter Schwartz's poem

Peter Schwartz

if love was a house who wouldn’t live there
who doesn’t want that one can’t / particularly on molten nights
when your wildest nightmare pony runs across
the great desert parking lot for his imaginary apple

it’s that or simply give in to the machinery
and let your very rotting form a smile
that will be immediately forgotten

if love was a house / if love has a house
there’s paintings on the walls and silverware in the drawers
with tiny, laughable locks

they endure like fingerprints on a volcano
or maybe sailing but never moving an inch
because your boat was really a house

if love was a house we’ve depopulated it
by making friends with skeletons
gravity is cosmic chess

reclaiming property is like trying to get back up into a plane
by jumping on a trampoline wearing a parachute
if love was a house / if love has a house

the floor creaks and whispers to the atoms in the furniture
this is love’s house and anybody who hurts anybody is only visiting
and that real love can’t help but be home

Return to Archive

FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 47 | Spring 2016