• The room, the room,
    The room,
    The room, the room
    The room is pregnant
    With secrets.

    Curtains drape the glassless windows,
    Suffocating the eager light
    Which so desperately struggles to break free,
    Scrambling on the cracks of the wooden floor,
    There it hides--concealed.

    The heroes
    Are smoking crack, pot and cocaine
    Pot and cocaine.
    The melancholic smoke that escape
    From their purple-grey lips
    Billows in the idle space
    Above.
    Evanescent.
    Capes hanging, masks dangling.

    All is happy, marry and gay,
    The fauns play their pan pipes while the
    Voluptuous muses belch
    Their tunes,
    And the devils polish their halos
    As stars vehemently bloom in
    The chasms of humanity—
    Then gone, out of sight, no where
    But not lost.

    Hush, he says without saying.
    Hush she says with words so piercing.
    Hush they say. Hush hush hush hush hush!
    No one talks. Not even the androgynous wooden figurine
    Trapped in a pose until he/she/it decides to do otherwise.
    Nor the urns so empty,
    Nor the lover enshrouded in mystery,
    Nor the silhouette so motherly,
    Not even me.
    Not even me.
    Not even me.