Walls Fall

Needs

Something needs to be said
(I can't remember the thread),
something leaden,
calling through a booming
in the car surround,
sharpening tongues
of garden singers.

I let it go but it snags
like wool on a thorn, torn,
finds its own way
into twigged weave.

Ensues near-silence hardly to believe,
that life so spent
becomes irrelevant:
the dream of a child ran wild
and having its way, decayed
till was left a shelled memento,
sentimental fondness, habit's orbit -
the oyster of it eaten easily,
or its carcass discarded.

Both? Neither?

Somebody's hammering hard;
extensions are being erected;
but I am on the opposite track,
taking down shanties
leaning against my walls -
taking in the ghosts of panties,
to fold them in graves of poems.

..