I speak to the world.
it talks back, but not in the same way--
it tells me to watch
all the little movements--
my eyes drink in slowly
the ceiling fan
it's shadow reconstruction
spinning on the wall
I listen as this life speaks.
creaking floor underfoot
it's words are lost on my heels
they do not understand.
bedroom window to the street
I can barely see through
the curtains are drawn closed.
this world shows me sense--
it swallows me whole.
night turns in the sky
like a restless sleeper
so I am awake
cool air greets me
from the idling fan
and the floor whines.
I cannot see the back yard.
cannot hear, feel the world
through the distractions--
these cardboard walls
the paper sky
my mannequin skin--
a projection of the time blinks,
red numbers resting on a black shelf,
in spite of my confines.
11:31 PM
I can not move it back.
11:32 PM
