All I want is a room with no windows and someone
outside to work the lock
who doesn’t speak english
but might understand my body language
if only I found the courage to say something
Inside my room I read a story that started
Every hero dies
And ended right there
in the blank space where a period should be
two dimensional endless white smudgeless
a miscarried ellipsis
but doesn’t make the thing any less true
Someone calls whose voice I don’t recognize
and just says Hi. What did you do all day?
I breathed, I say. I’m doing it right now.
No you’re not, she says. And she’s right. She always is.
She says you think you know everything, don’t you.
And I say no. I just think I know this, because I do.
Come and see me, she says.
So I start walking, and whenever I get wherever I go
I’ll say sorry I’m late, my instincts were wrong
And the positivity of the graffiti on the walls
makes me skeptical and loathsome of here
inside: the acme of stench
outside: a culture of grimacing
I want to be in the tubes that pretend to tie them both together
but is really just the perfect hiding place
I say I have to leave, I’m going to take the road less traveled by
because I don’t want to be around people right now
or women with the dependence of picture frames
who need something inside them to define what they are
come inside my shiny glass box
and lets let everyone see us
On the subway platform a man holds a sign that says
“Sins are clusters of amino acids in the retina of the eye”
And I’m envious of his penmanship
a renewed man otherwise overdue
a yellowed, obsolete page in the encyclopedia of rot
and the train finally comes, screaming entropic metal
a string section set on dirty green alchemical fire
begging for more rust and sparks and bows
this will be my year of music