Room

My consciousness likes to imagine itself as a room,

even though it lacks its basic property, like, a dimension?

There is no defined wall or floor or ceiling, but there is something

That I’d like to call a wallfloorceiling.

And this wallfloorceiling is black, with cool purple decal.

Most days there are more doors opening on their own.

Of course I am exaggerating, but

there are times when 500 doors can simultaneously open

And things on the other end would come right in

It does have a door. And this is our point of interest today.

How many doors does it have?

When I’m lucky it is just one at the center. Purple, by the way.

You would hear a gentle knock from this door

then it opened with a creak, continued by a voice,

“Are you feeling better today?”

Have you ever imagined nine different subway trains

Coming out of these doors in full speed, drilling

through your (imaginary) room, out of your (imaginary) head?

I have. I am right now.

How about five different songs performed live

in each door, with zero fucks given

To A VERY IMPORTANT conversation I’m in?

“It’s Elvis, though.” Capital letters don’t matter when it’s Elvis.

Then there’s you, who open at least one door every hour.

And my dead parent and my live parents.

And alpacas, and babies, and military tanks.

And that question about my career.

They all have their doors and love to use them.

And there’s me, fascinated by this mental carnival

Wondering where the toilet is.

But don’t worry. My room is soundproof.

From the outside I am a giant bobblehead who nods to you.

December 7, 2023