[stylist] Poem - "The Secret Life" - Final Draft

[William L Houts]

Hey Blinkie Artists,

Wrote this one some time ago.  I hadn't seen it for a long time, but I 
was just going through my poetry folder as one does and this one jumped 
out at me.  It has never gotten much play for some reason, but I think 
it has legs.  Enjoy, I hope, heh.


--Bill



---

The old gods have ways,

though many have died.

Syphillis jittered them down:

they starved on the res,

or coughed up their lungs

in a gutter and lost their minds.

They stagger and sleep rough

and mutter curses on stinking breath.

They shit their pants and drink

too much and forget.

But others survive, save

some strength, and scheme.

They remember their names.

I have been one of these.

We change.

The great ones, the beasts

of the plain are dead.

So we dream of the rat,

and the rat we become,

and rabbit and squirrel,

and ferret and mole:these remain,

and they are enough for us,

returning powers, forgotten.

We were lords of hills

and ladies of deep, deep lakes:

now we make our place

with teeth and tiny paws.

The walls of your history rot

and we burrow through.

We’re mice in the attic.

And a few can hear

the sound of our scratching,

like radio static:a few can see

the splintered wood, the sign of the paw.

A few of you find

the holes in your house,

and find your way out

as we found our way in.

You crawl between

the walls you knew.

Some of you chew

the wire and burn.

But one of you passes

the outer wall,

and learns to walk

the secret road.

One of you lives

the secret life

the secret life

the secret life.