[days in the life]

[time passes]
there are fibrous cracks in the wall that seem to me as healed scars, raised and
puckered memories that will never die
the brown carpet on the stairs is of the earth, from it I rose and to it I will
return
the pizza was delicious, the vegetables soft and sugary and the barely cooked dough
folded over seared on the base
and I'm sorry I said it looked shit, mam i'm sorry
the walls are not built straight, thay wobble upward from the stairway and vaguely
cave inward to enclose us
I think about how they would feel crashing in, how the plaster would groan and the old
scars would break open and the builder's baked orange bricks would tumble in a deadly
chalky wave of skull-crushing mercy
we'd mingle in the dust with the butterflies and age old fingerprints in mortar