You pace a room full of forgotten thoughts
And find yourself hanging
Down
From the peeling wallpaper
It is yellowed and crisp
In your hands

A tangled man
Made of Spiderwebs
Asks you why.
“why,” he asks. “Do you always fall parallel to the earth
But perpendicular to everyone else?”
You toss him away on a puff of breath.
You tell him you like falling, thank you very much,
And fall out of a shattered window
And you are reabsorbed into the nighttime.