I am in a room with walls of white
Where the women look elsewhere,
Having seen that I am old
And adrift in the vagueness
Of my mind.I am in a room with walls of red
Where the women are spent
And the men are spent
And words are treated as
The currency of the generous.I am in a room of smoldering ruins
Where giant butterflies flutter
And a child half dressed
Sings listlessly as she drags
Her blood-drenched doll.I am in a room where men and women
Eat the word prevarication
With a knife and fork and munch on other
Concoctions of their imaginings.
I am in that room for now.
May 2004
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