wihte cat

Making a mess of the square places we live.

                         This room is not as permanent as it once was.

I lean my head 

   against the plaster walls and the building sways to the left.

                                       Chunks of the ceiling fall when

you tell me you want me closer. I can see the sky now.

Paint peels off

        the walls when I cannot look away from you.

Door frames fall in a heap and we leave them there.

When you have to go,

I keep the door unlocked

             in case you want 

to prove the impermanence of things that close on hinges. 

Look at this mess we make.