Thursday, Mar. 13, 2003
where the ceiling slopes
I dream of snow falling
And my van has been moved into an open garage
and filled with cages of mottled white birds.
The birds are all dying in the cold; they hop and then fall over on to their sides.
They have no song, and there is only the sound of their rustle, back and forth.
A grizzled short blond man who has a key to our? apartment lets himself inside,
and as I shove him to the wall,
hard and rough,
he smiles with stained teeth,
explaining, as though this is knowledge the world holds,
That he pays $45 a month to the landlord,
as to have access to a room inside the flat.
He brings me up dusty turning stairs
and into a room where the ceiling slopes,
and there are no windows,
but three doors that lead to a second story drop
that have been painted shut,
with old white oil paint that has ambered
in the dark..
When I wake it is snowing.
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The Comb Tree42.316833,-72.656553
United States of America