This Groaning Room of Glass

A look in my over-eager eyes

signaled our demise

as the feng shui

fell apart.

I shifted


potted plants

and wall hangings

in a sick malaise,

not really feeling with my hands,

astounded that I still walked


And things began spinning.

I cringed, a ghostly horror behind my lips.

Crouched, I wished away my dizziness.

The little bonsai we planted,

trimmed diligently,

shaped in pursuit of our needs,

has drooped

and turned

as a demonic sunflower toward the darkness outside

where I dare not glance.

I would speak but I fear

breaking another

particle in this groaning

room of glass.


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