I lay down on my bed
curl up into a ball
I hear a door slam far away
No one is here but me
for the next few days I will have the flat all to myself
and a thought
of the sound of flies everywhere
A thought of the smell and the sound of flies days later

It’s a bright night out tonight
a bright light like the light of a dead sun
bright enough to read by, to write by
star-studded? five hundred years ago it was;
and now,
while the night breathes in moist magenta
entrapping apartments beneath a wall of
light
is it day or is it night?

it’s red or it’s blue and it comes
still shafts of color, placid and turbulent like the plague
like locusts through the windows, open
like a woman walking in slowmotion
as the night advances in decomposition
and recomposes itself when the clouds lighten slightly
and morning comes wan, not bright
is it day or is it night?

when I was too young to know the moon’s movements
and naive enough to think that the
moon could shine as bright as the sun
I was confused, on a full moon
if it were night or day
and slept in my parents’ bed in uncomfortable doubt
if it were day or night

and now I am in my own bed
and the moon is nowhere to be seen
it’s a wet night in the city
a greenhouse, a science experiment
of its own light, under the magenta clouds, illuminated bright
I know it’s night
but it feels
not that way
feels like neither
night nor day.

I know it’s wrong to feel
this way, the
fantasy of all of the
people in this world
who wronged me
all the people I could never trust
seeing them all
collected together all
the bad ones

Sitting still long enough for the
lights in the room shut
off on their own
and in the darkness
watch the carless streets
you’d think it were some holiday
I’d be dead too

I've stopped
putting my ear next to this conch
the city has grown just as quiet as the last
and I thought I’d find a cure here
I thought I wouldn’t get this way again.

I wish I could see my home being born
One of the stars I’ll choose when I’m
far enough away from here to see it

to think of people the weeks or months before they died
and what they were to you at that time
what they were to you
and then to think
what you are right now
at this moment
on a scale, how much you are trying for
you friends your family the stars the universe
who would be the one to think of how you were?

I have to remind myself things are changing around me
Even though I never leave this place
Even though these are the same walls always around me

The same riveters in the morning trying to close up the sky
With their rivet guns, their godly mission to blot out heaven
With blue tarps and steel
Building up the fourth wall around me and shutting up the sky

Today the air changed there was roofing material floating in the sky
pieces of apartment buildings flying around and leaves
The leaves, the trees were screaming,
It was like those home videos
of hurricanes

bone-colored clouds and the blurry static of rain like an old television
The rain passed quickly as it had come over me
Was it even there?
It was notable, I wrote a poem about it.

navy blue room
navy blue shadows creeping on the walls
and a navy blue shadow of a cross too
black chair in the corner
and an ok-looking sky
orange
outside the window
at this time of day
when the sun wastes
or night, while the moon waits
you could say
the white walls are just navy blue
“but they’re white”
you’d say
but I think they are
navy blue
the red rug too
and the brown chair
and the cross is something blue
you tell me all these colors exist
but I can't really
find them
that dress, is it gold or blue?
I just see it all
blue
for some reason
it is hard for you to see
It can be pretty too