There’s one plant to welcome you now, after 5, then 2.
They have disappeared, no longer guarding my
introspective mate from subversion.
Thus, in these walls, we all crash together.
Candles abound, but only lit so often
as to elucidate the dusted book collection:
my base of time-earned information.
Thus, in these walls we, all crash together.
Budget-sleek and modern furniture frames
musical entries, my shoes on a worn Persian rug,
as my toes to tread against the world.
My walls are putting me up as art.
Clocks everywhere to remind me.
In every moment, fatigue and decay
remembrance, reiteration, thus rebirth.
My walls are putting me up as art.
Entreat yourself in a distraction of choice
look deeply in corners and manically count crumbles.
The bristles have no companions!
These surfaces cannot be white-glove failures!
Distracted, it’s where you need to be.
If you breathe and don’t panic,
when it stops in moments of time…
You’re in my home, make it yours.
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