Patient Room

The fulcrum of where I am attempting to exit

Is pressuring my system; I would assert truncation

However, absent the conviction of progressing with a mutual fresh endeavor

I am wary to accept that the plummet on the mountain’s curve

Is not inches away

Therein I know the sentiment of the patient in the ticking room

The sliding window of reception, the door, the blind monotony

Of magazines and fish tanks bubbling

The entry and exiting of bodies and the murky notions

Of what goes on behind closed doors

A vague idea of who came in prior to whom

As if such a priority system linked to conclusive result

In the humor of such hypotheses one burrows into articles and head-mazes

Printed in type-face and fever until the nauseous vapors churn stomach acids

Or one meditates in the understanding of what is beyond one’s control

Recognizing one has volition to exit

An honest debt bartered with an escalation of commitment

To the buzzing cellular towers and detergent poured into washing sheets

Wanting want rather than slathered in the stale paste of apathy

The cloak of dubbing oneself a bother in the tank of non-response

To dwell is to take up mental-inebriations in hourly pandemics

Swollen in maddening labyrinths boring eyeballs like mining drills into stone

Where each bit spins a feckless swirl flailing limp to an impenetrable barrier

Of distant nothingness plastered in non-response

I know the sound of the humming radix of florescent tube lights

The droll air conditioner condenser activating and ceasing

The dry swallow of saliva to pick one’s self up and concede

That the only door opening is the one entered from transformed as exit

What was once a hopeful appointment if a foul passive aggressive lock-out

Unworthy of an explanation or the crumb pittance of love once envisioned

The theater ends long before the last actor leaves the stage

The idea of God hangs in the flood light flickering a purple hue

The open street air envelopes the endless towers of street corner drive through signs

The plastic food, the name tags, the tires rotating on the un-kept concrete

Where to begin?