Room
Dear mum,
This place is
out of touch
Walls inverted,
carpet crust is burrowed in the cuticles of room.
This place is
Somewhere else.
And the inhabitant has left marks but seems to have
felt
It is detached
so is mouth
and so is foot.
Sending love,
Head
Coma Hotel
They will sit in my hospital house.
Sift the halls whilst strumming the spines
and take you to a place that you and I
Never went to.
Never wished to.
They will sing and split the text
and we shall watch from different plains
as the rye breaks and the bells take our place
and I won’t break the plasm between our states
because I am only half dead.
Yet half awake.
They won’t sit in your room and fold the corners
Feed the priest, the dog
the mourners
hold the door to let the weary in
so that they may begin
to understand
why your predestination
had to be my sin