the cracks in the walls beg your attention away from the coffee rings
covering the linen on the table and the little things.
you are sure they have meaning,
bending and drawing out stories from your darting heart,
deepening its tarnished encasing.
the taste of metal and past histories touch
on the lines tethered at each opening and you said
you only wanted to be heard of.
so you pieced up some anger to throw down on papers,
took your long list of selfish hunger,
and held them up to the wall.

it gave you nothing back to absorb.