Peel the walls of paint with cold
whispers;
Where is this alleged bed
I dream of leaving?

Up on the ice couch, sitting under blanket
where Iíll plot my morning loss;
lights off, sun off, mind off
naked trees dance; a deep hallelujah inhale

With hardwood floor, sewing machine, dirty dishes, piled clothes and soda
cans
company for another Sabbath debacle; and the air has a chill I canít place
close the closed door, somewhere behind it, sheís still all asleep.