i should get out of bed,
i should spend the afternoon
peeling the stenciled papers
and coats of old paint
from the walls

i could use the extra space,
the bricks could use some air

then, sticking to the theme,
brush my teeth, clean my ears,
blow my nose, eyedrops, emetic,
enema, diuretic, a good bleeding,
a quick beating, four shots of gin,
martinis stripped down, a breather,
four more, five more, tears,
four more, morning

waking a little erased,
closer to empty, like my room

For those who have never swum
past the sharp edge
of the coast’s sandy trim,
let me tell you,
there is no sea floor,
it is water all the way down
to China

Europe, Africa, Asia,
North and South America,
Australia and the Antarctic,
the islands in clusters
and alone, float
like crackers on soup

For those who have never dug a hole,
the lawns, the parks and the fields
are like carpets slung between the roads

And beneath the roads,
and beneath the foundations of our houses,
there is nothing but space,
space without stars,
punctured by tree roots
and the sharp ends of fence posts

For those who never climbed a tree
when they were light enough
to get high enough
to reach through the canopy,
the sky is concave and cool to the touch,
it feels like the underside
of a porcelain bowl

It is a miserable cup,
this damp hollow
in an otherwise dry city

How did I arrive?
Like the standing water
I trickled down a hill

The water can’t climb,
but it escapes

I can’t climb either,
Sisyphus is the rock,
or follow the water
into the air

I wait with the houses and roads,
to crumble and steep,
to stain the water like tea