by DS Maolalai.
from the top of my bed
I look,
watch the forest
with bare feet. I am not
a tidy man,
as my apartment can attest.
I should never
be allowed
to live anywhere
belonging
to someone.
between the carpet strands,
spat appleseeds
sprout
with nutrition
gleaned from spilled wine
and old sweat.
under the table
spiders crawl like lions.
they have plenty to eat
with the cockroaches
and dying flies.
dropped bottlecaps
chatter – crabs might lurk
beneath their bulk.
I lie in bed
and eat toast and crackers,
drink glasses of milk
and spill most of it.
at night
mice dive in my kitchen
and make mad havoc
with the bread.
I read books
and play the radio
and am god
all on my lonesome.
I might as well be west.
moses
made water out of rocks.
I can draw mold
out of plaster.
I live
in a room
where everything
is living.
I feel privileged
to be living
in it too.