In the center of the buzz
If buzz had a center
we'd find
dryer lint and cough drops
No windows
Windows are for seeing
No air
Breathing is, apparently, optional
A universe
where flowers wilt
under the same refrain blooming
into airless space again
cringes,
Her stories on continuous loop
slither from her head bent into her massive
black purse,
Who did what and when to whom
Fills the house with words,
We lift our heads higher and higher
as the level rises
Silently promise each other, ourselves,
long walks on twisting paths in misty-falling rain.
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