New Poem

The Room of My Life (response poem to Anne Sexton)

Here,

in the room of my life

the objects keep changing.

Virginal books grace the tables,

uninhabited t-shirts grow tall as mountains,

the computer keys flashing white in the dark

each the sclera lingering for the cursor to stop blinking

the papers, filed under “I’m never going back to that moment”,

the mirrors, white with reminiscent summers,

the scars on the ceiling,

filled with the tears of New Orleans

the Persian rug

a matted footnote,

the fan

an ever-constant reminder of time

the bed,

springing violently in sleep's dance

the doors

hinged on my next step

that drive people like screws through my master plan.

Everyday I thrive outside the room,

soiling the earth with sentiment.

I feed the world in here too,

mostly with white noise.

Our aim always strays the course.

My objects endure and wear new costumes,

compelled to, it seems, by the words in my fingers

and calluses strengthening acumen.