By Exiled
Though the living room contained my writing desk
I have exiled this self
(into the kitchen)
Not willing to witness the emptying of walls.
My walls of pictures and of shadows are being washed
All going down the drain
(into the bathroom)
The drain’s life might be in danger receiving so much of my life.
The form stays put, the color is the same
But there’s this stairway to the peace between this self and I
(into the living room)
The I that never had a single wall.
We have to reconcile!
July, 26th, 2017
