House of Doors

by Steve Arntson
first published in Ygg’s Horse on
Feb. 17, 2008

Note: Steve says–“This is a piece written after my first visit to Burning Man in 1996 – it is about an installation that was created using only doors…”

The House of Doors
seemed doors to all your houses

And there was Huxley perceiving something
Huxley at the keyboard
Huxley with headphones
mixin’ a set
for a micro-burst of broadcast
from his ready radio room
cozy as a wind-break

We were going to sleep
with a memory of Morrison
singing, “This is The End, my friend!”
End of a root system’s supply-and-demand
for wooden doors
making wooden walls

And once within their circle of power
no music is denied you!
All bands are heard hearing Jim’s
his coming and going
doors seeming closed upon a crop circle’s circle
of knobs
and keyholes

You enjoy each panel’s pale braille relief
Fingertipping and tapping
as if to after the end of the world
Or knocking knocking

“Can I come in, Aldous
do you perceive me?
do you?
do you?”

And he answers
“We’re going to keep it cozy for ya’
keep ambient yellow aglow
keep the heat enclosed
and let the cold escape!”

While F Minor spins a turntable ’round
‘midst the spaghetti of power cords and cables
memories are gathered
the way a crowd is convened
Each member of the mob a version of recollect

A drought just dying to invade
as a silt so fine
it’s through and through
the knothole
the keyhole
A story passed down
Like a whispered text of dusky stars
by the westerlies conveyed

by Steve Arntson, copyright 2008

Categories: poem by Steve Arntson

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