All I want is a room with no windows and someone outside to work the lock who doesn’t speak english but might understand my body language if only I found the courage to say something Inside my room I read a story that started Every hero dies And ended right there in the blank space where a period should be two dimensional endless white smudgeless a miscarried ellipsis but doesn’t make the thing any less true only floating Someone calls whose voice I don’t recognize and just says Hi. What did you do all day? I breathed, I say. I’m doing it right now. No you’re not, she says. And she’s right. She always is. She says you think you know everything, don’t you. And I say no. I just think I know this, because I do. Come and see me, she says. So I start walking, and whenever I get wherever I go I’ll say sorry I’m late, my instincts were wrong And the positivity of the graffiti on the walls makes me skeptical and loathsome of here inside: the acme of stench outside: a culture of grimacing I want to be in the tubes that pretend to tie them both together but is really just the perfect hiding place I say I have to leave, I’m going to take the road less traveled by because I don’t want to be around people right now or women with the dependence of picture frames who need something inside them to define what they are come inside my shiny glass box and lets let everyone see us On the subway platform a man holds a sign that says “Sins are clusters of amino acids in the retina of the eye” And I’m envious of his penmanship a renewed man otherwise overdue a yellowed, obsolete page in the encyclopedia of rot and the train finally comes, screaming entropic metal a string section set on dirty green alchemical fire begging for more rust and sparks and bows this will be my year of music