I heard the neighbor-lady through the wall, she said,
"... yes, mhm ... you don't have to ask me questions ...."
Getting hot, perspiring from the shirt, I hate
the itchiness and lifted up my shirt, There!
" ... I have to go ... I'll leave the door unlocked ...."
Then heard a shuffle, sheets and door hinges,
then maybe her step down the hallway.
An unlatched! apartment--I've coveted less--
this and all the pomp, pills, and condoms I've stole,
oh I was up already, zipped myself away,
making the way between diaries and ***** plates,
oh already up opening my door--you guessed?
The hallway was empty; I went right
and door 54, was it this? I put my weight
to it, fogged the eyehole with my breath.
Hand to the **** I turned and it opened.
Augh! The managers who've stopped me,
once I was even tackled by a security guard,
was handcuffed, was once called "heartless"--
if only every door opened like this.
I was shirtless still, in fact, my hand strayed
was raised to my breast and I kneaded
the skin and tugged the hair: I entered.
It was dark and I feared the honesty of light.
I had a step to the next and her kitchen
came upon me, I saw the shadows of her home.
I wandered further as if walking an antiverse;
someone else the same template.
I wanted to find where I lived in her home,
where I sat and heard her often call,
where I imagined she curled phone cords
or refused to snore now matter how hard
I pressed my ears to the wall.
This is it? This is her bedroom,
adjunct to mine, a wall to separate--
she sleeps here.
I've got breathlessness and my hand is groping.
Does she have a closet or dresser? I will see.
She calls a boy by name, is he coming?
When is he? Can I hide here, see him?
oh soon. I'll know too soon, too.
I open the door. And she is staring back.
Her hand against the wall, the spot,
where I rock my body awake from
nightmares. To reach through the
plaster and steal the socks. It was a,
a, a great shame to be so looked upon
so, an inanimate gaze like a mirror's
that maybe can't see me, dunno.
I want to move further, can't.
Can't say anything either.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I heard the neighbor-lady through the wall, she said,
"... yes, mhm ... you don't have to ask me questions ...."
Getting hot, perspiring from the shirt, I hate
the itchiness and lifted up my shirt, There!
" ... I have to go ... I'll leave the door unlocked ...."
Then heard a shuffle, sheets and door hinges,
then maybe her step down the hallway.
An unlatched! apartment--I've coveted less--
this and all the pomp, pills, and condoms I've stole,
oh I was up already, zipped myself away,
making the way between diaries and ***** plates,
oh already up opening my door--you guessed?
The hallway was empty; I went right
and door 54, was it this? I put my weight
to it, fogged the eyehole with my breath.
Hand to the **** I turned and it opened.
Augh! The managers who've stopped me,
once I was even tackled by a security guard,
was handcuffed, was once called "heartless"--
if only every door opened like this.
I was shirtless still, in fact, my hand strayed
was raised to my breast and I kneaded
the skin and tugged the hair: I entered.
It was dark and I feared the honesty of light.
I had a step to the next and her kitchen
came upon me, I saw the shadows of her home.
I wandered further as if walking an antiverse;
someone else the same template.
I wanted to find where I lived in her home,
where I sat and heard her often call,
where I imagined she curled phone cords
or refused to snore now matter how hard
I pressed my ears to the wall.
This is it? This is her bedroom,
adjunct to mine, a wall to separate--
she sleeps here.
I've got breathlessness and my hand is groping.
Does she have a closet or dresser? I will see.
She calls a boy by name, is he coming?
When is he? Can I hide here, see him?
oh soon. I'll know too soon, too.
I open the door. And she is staring back.
Her hand against the wall, the spot,
where I rock my body awake from
nightmares. To reach through the
plaster and steal the socks. It was a,
a, a great shame to be so looked upon
so, an inanimate gaze like a mirror's
that maybe can't see me, dunno.
I want to move further, can't.
Can't say anything either.
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