in my bedroom there are nine little slabs of wood (remnants of my old bunk) which now serve as a partition between myself & the ceiling. it is the damnedest thing: hours– days! have been lost to studying ceaseless swirls of tiny stalactites that drip from the roof; or could they have been constellations? capricorn has a doppelgänger in my ceiling, i’m sure of it. i haven’t looked in a long while, unfortunately.
i moved to the bottom bunk after an incident in which i fell five feet to the cool floor & no one came after me. i decided i would never again sleep so high up; i tossed my mattress to the trash-collectors & settled into my sister’s vacated four-poster. try as i might i couldn’t completely remove the framework from the top bunk, so above me are these nine plywood bars. i’ve thrown a pink coverlet over them for looks but also to protect me from cobwebs that threaten to fall into my mouth & choke me while i dream.
why should i dream, in a place like this? six paces to the dresser, six paces to the door. a closet large enough to shelve my body & little else. the window rusted shut; one hanging light. no acoustics. there are secrets in the mahogany under my feet, but i can’t follow them.
i still have the ladder to my old bed. it stands adjacent to the post, waiting to be re-installed. i could very well return to the cosmos by the middle of the month, but i’d have to prepare. i’ll make do with the nine bars for now; they are sometimes interesting to consider. i may even sketch them sometime. on a side note, i hope that the people in this house know i didn’t fall from the top on purpose.
// nine bars