For the more unpleasant events of my life,
I seem to have two memories.
The most fragmented one
is the one from inside the experience
and it is mostly feelings.
The other one is incomplete as well,
but it is the one stored as still photographs
by the outside watcher……
the only light comes from the bathroom across the hall
the only sound comes from the kitchen below
the smell of whiskey and cigarettes enters my room
the mountain of a man
huge and bristly grey and greasy
stands over me
laughter floats up from below
apparently something is very funny down there
not so up here
in the corner of the bedroom there’s a hole in the floor
it ‘s the reason i can hear them having such a good time
i wish there were a stovepipe in it
as the farmer who built this place intended
it would provide warmth for me
and a connection to the people downstairs
there is none
my bedroom floats free
they are oblivious
my body floats free
i am oblivious.
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