Cutting Corners

This corner of the room is sinking
Not that one
Or that
This one
I’m sure its this one

And it’s cold
It feels like the stainless steel skin
Of a surreal Rube-Goldberg refrigerator
That cools the entire Universe
With no moving parts

This corner of the room is sinking
Because Tomblin left her ghost there
Or was it over there?
No – i’m sure it was here

Cold
I think its degrees Fahrenheit
Have to ask Kelvin
Why someone can leave a scent in a room
That chills a man. . .
He’ll say that Nothing’s absolute

This corner of the cold room is slowly shrinking
Because she said, ‘Why are branches so bleak?’
Said, ‘Trees are just dirt fountains.’
Said, ‘Love is nothing more than a chemical reaction.’

This corner of a cold room is tangled
Never expanding with the warm air of Spring
Never breathing again
Never warming cold hands in the hands of another
Because love tokens seeped into this corner
Held by withered wizened wooden hands
Knotted roots of maple, oak, elm, birch

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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