King

He buried the blood in the window pane
Living an unclear existence with the restlessness of shedding skin
The flake and fall uncovering a bluish blemish
A pile building
Setting him deeper

Kept in pacing domain
The threads of shoddy carpet
Worn deeper
And nothing to do
On a Sunday afternoon

A deep urge for idle chit chat had set in
The corners of his mouth
Affixed a grimace
Refusing exposure its trespass

Should the window break ..
a heart might beat again
And peel the tape away from its grin
To speak of sentimental moments
.... Small bodies of shimmering waters
A distant sun setting or rising on them

And birds, lovely birds

It would be so painful

So the carpet
Digging his track marks
A sovereign space to sleep walk in