AN EMPTY ROOM

restless and lazy at once. an empty room is a prison and a womb. a poisoned atmosphere where dust motes drift suspended in shafts of light. a clock ticks rhythmically. removing the battery won't stop time. the second hand's steady arc can't make it start again, inside this room. the weight of gravity pulls everything more strongly here, the pressure on the walls outside like the bottom of the ocean. furniture waits idly for a purpose—the feel of a body, of use. the hard floor is a stage waiting for action, emotion, cues. the ceiling hovers over all. this place tastes like aspirin. like charred street vendor sausages. and like beer. nothing glows with the intention of action, nothing receives the focus of sight. all is dragged like drowning to the bottom, with the room, with the world shut out, with the stage set. she comes home. sound springs from every corner, bouncing excitedly off walls—a puppy eager for play. light and lightness rush in like air at the click of the switch, the casual flick of the wrist.