The Empty Well
A single neuron in my brain is going Ha-Ha,
like a hungry beast that dwells in the well.
And all of these things shouldn’t happen if:
I hadn’t closed the door, if I had come inside
and looked in your eyes.
But now the walls are painted in red,
in your spectrum. This is beautiful enough to dry
your eyes, but you are singing silly songs.
I am somewhere else! From the urn on the mantel,
someone is pointing his finger at me.