Pink Room [Revised]

 I will tour you in my room.

Come in, come all.

At first sight: mirrors.

Mirrors hiding honeycomb cracks,

Displaying the drop of maggots

Splattering into spilled acrylic and

Former-mirror glass.

Then, ten bookshelves.

Language like beads of a future

Too intricate for realization.

Covers webbed, well-used;

Unkempt, served.

Orange spine.


The paint is rising from the floor.

Shattered glass drowning.

Hints of black hair,

Missing aglets.

In the midst, however, 

My body.

Spine swinging

Back and forth like pendulum,

Feet tapping. Nails

Flicking through the books.

What else is there to do?

The worms are dead, engulfed by pigment.

Soon, the shelves,

Soon, myself. And you.

I’m sorry for the mess.