• Laying here seemingly idle, I stare at the ceiling,
    Its cracked paint has no place now,
    It has long since packed its bags and left.
    Messages and past dreams, taunts and monstrous screams
    Are all that’s left and are revealing.
    The damp spray shadow from the window gives added spatter
    And as I watch and try to read the pictures,
    Playing for me now, this new layer and its effects,
    Make our time together seem more of a dark and dank charade.

    Drips from the bathroom tap,
    The leftovers,
    Small offerings,
    Monosyllabic mutterings,
    Make no sense,
    Till their sound - less alone now
    As time dictates - their conference room is full
    And they have their captive audience in the well of
    Vacant eyes that is the water.

    Pulling the plug
    Was easy.
    Without malice,
    Monosyllabic offerings,
    Made no sense,
    Hasty retreats,
    To the very place
    I find myself now
    And again,
    I pull the plug.

    Tomorrow, that ceiling will be radiant as will my life,
    And the stained, rained windowpane will gleam,
    And the sun and shadows from then on in, will add an invisible
    Texture to the cement and plaster I smooth over in your wake.