routine decline

from a hole in the bed I crawl

from a window in my head I watch

from a sill life in green rushes by

from a quiet air I think

myself into pounding and ringing


from the grey walls I roam

from the bus stop I dream

there’s a reality I’ve tasted before

but never savored, so

from a chalice of happy I sip myself

into stupid oblivion


from a beautiful scape I watch

the anxious sun beat color across the sky

and feel no heat


from eyes I make sense of a way home

leaving pieces as I go

the roads paved in passing time


from stairs I climb

room to room

and I’m here

from the pit of pity I mount the ledge

just to fall back

into bed



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