It's been a while since I last posted, but since I'm stuck in my apartment with a sprained foot, I figured it was time. Something new.
Bad shoes on a treadmill
Mean a month on the couch.
I know every pattern of this apartment.
Portraits on the wall change expressions.
The futon and the bed become different worlds.
Delivery men come and go, hollow eyed
With pens for tips.
My mother’s voice is calm and far away.
Inspiration rises from bad TV shows
And a sometimes hangover from the
Cloistered nights before.
Cigarettes are delivered and I smoke them.
Friends on facebook ask me to poke them.
I count the number of times I go to pee.
I could live like this forever and no one
Would know.
A mouse crawls across the kitchen floor
And I thrill at something happening.
I spend the night beating the walls and
Researching exterminators.
Delivery boys come and go.
I tune in to another show.
My foot looks up at me, smiling
A clipped and toothy bruised smile.
My body and mind are ready, except
For this.
The night comes again and hands me
A glass of wine. I wonder how long
I can stay here in my tower.
How long will it take without the world,
For every single person to forget?
No comments:
Post a Comment