Rambles

This airy room is everything

I am not

Clean walls and specks of light with no memories

A spacious room with no belongings

To master or brutalise to replace

Or turn away

Inside this wardrobe, emptiness lives comfortably

There is no reason to search or abandon oneself

In endless monologues about responsibility

Or revenge

Thriving under the carpet are my footsteps

And your footprints equally remote, inseparable

 The furniture lives apart, estranged

like husbands and wives,

So rich in so many ways, but

Terribly affected by disillusion,

And bewilderment:

How can I be made from wood and not flesh?

 I surreptitiously enter this bed,

A king-size, holding me above the ground

Levitating without any other fortune

The sheets and quilt are bastions

Of battles unfought, so painful at times

So bloody and inhumane.