one more time, his eyes all burned and
tweaked and cold and snuffed
he gripped the edges of the chair.
she had shifted across him again,
held the glass and smiled. his legs were
cumbersome. he was really nothing at all.
the ice in the drink was the only sound in the room.
‘look, up over there, there’s something moving…”
he looked up too and clutched her thigh, strained
to see above. she laughed and took out a
cigarette. he felt heavy and couldn’t see anything, just ceiling.
he looked down at the old carpet, and she handed him the glass.
she thought of stairways and automobile.
she thought of the cool night outside.
and the cockroach up on the wall behind him slid into a crevice.