room

I sit up in
It is still
Sweaty sweating
This enclosed face with the wind faltering
Like the sound that is falling
Up as it's bouncing from pane to pane
To the floor I'm above now.

Alone here thinking
Pondering you and you and even a
Little consideration for you too
Where I really wish
You would be thinking too
In words and movement
Enough to break it
Crash the still night

Slash the colors you store
Being an imitation of the crazy
Exploding spirit that implores
One purple flower growing tall in the
Big beige bush on the north side of our
Communally constructed streets
Built to be inhabited

We shy from the humanity of it
Stolen away we lock
Into dim rooms with
Too many pieces of furniture
Strewn clothing covering
Stained-aged carpet.
Placed for warmth in a place
Interrupted by slamming doors

Pushed and pulled
From me to you and you
Books ask for my eyes
Mind doesn't go there and words
Mean things more than what I should
Try to learn
From opening and looking
Up on the eighth floor.