Devil in a White Room

cue: the big blue easy
a claim to love, no,
a sense there’s goodness about
whenever the walls have
no room to listen

digging the soft wells
the comfort wells
the wild breeze
where we make shape
with our stalk hands
with our quivering
eggshell throats

there, the rain
is no spectator
no devil in a
white room
no groove-maker
to the pace of our
bone dead feet
dancing uninterrupted, twice,
the thrashing
the melodramatic thrust
of a flyby pastoral night

time is a graveyard,
as necessary as
all things buried
(and you, your hair is too
beautiful not to touch)
like a pair of rusty virgins
under the ugly number 9
swinging from the vacant
lamp of a street sign
who in silence weep with
the ashes of their
own discomfort

infinity is the lonely hour
between silence and
what’s under it

8 thoughts on “Devil in a White Room

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