Name Or Memory

the scar on the doorknob shouts,
everytime i reach for the door.
never asking which way i'm going,
as if i knew the direction home.
the vase falls from the table and shatters,
ants race about, avoiding fire.
the mad generals, refrigerator and stove,
fight to the death over who's feeding who.
the cat in the window stretches,
and the iron gathers dust.
only the pulse of the coffeepot steady,
and the scent of love that stains the walls.
what is life? more than this?
or something less, and forbidden?
i pray to the razor over a sink stained,
that asks not for name or memory!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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