A view in the window, is all.
The unreal wink of the nighttime light
From tops of buildings where you could
Possibly, jump. But into what?
The high-beam of taxicabs yelling
Their favourite curse words at the
Swaddling lovers downstairs from where
You sit leaning towards, nose pressing,
Fingers clawing the sill of a prospect.
The room is warm but you want cold.
The room is quiet but you want the
Stutters of a homeless man and the
Clink-clank of the change in the can.
Must I strap you down in your seat
Feed you stew, massage your feet,
Force a book in your hands so you read
And not stare
At the beauty of a cinderblock wall?