the steep ceiling held culture and resistance,
as if it was to forewarn my angles and eye sight of the
high powers and street talk that hung over the bad ones.
i guess i don't know enough about religion or the great
  enlightenment to feel comfortable to intellectually
       give the word to the people.
                              (i could almost feel the jealousy burning off my fingers as i write this.)
                                        "i wish i could sway you with the words
                                          i contained in dainty letters and home-
                                          made thank you cards, but nothing settled
                                          this debate."
i sweltered through this indication that you had it,
you were better than me by a few sentences,
and i plotted a gentle whisper through the hole in the plaster.
i took a record player and some water from the fridge in the
hopes you could see how serious i was.

you didn't notice.

i locked myself out to forget about the times your synchronized
collection followed me out of town.