A room topped up with nothingness,
of numberless walls and windows,
its flooring creaking in another dimension,
with a door that only leads out,
that you open three times before knocking,
the room shivering with delight,
swooning with anticipation,
anxious as hell.

Not just any room, it’s a cube of light
suffering serious side effects.
It’s a box afloat on Titan’s seas.
Home of the bestial doo-dad.

It’s a place misplaced.
An idea turned inside out
and painted all the colours God sends me.
I’m living there now, a mansion
of rich and heady atmospheres,
drinking in the quiet like wine;
just another timid dust-bunny,
just another dark and unloved corner
no one cared much for until it was gone.

I’m like a room too, or kind of.
I’m like a room inside a room.
My quarter-round is swelling badly.
They keep tearing my house down,
but there’s no one home.

It’s nothing like I thought it would be.

It isn’t funny.