now: your body's a filthy
little room that you're doomed to understand
too well, because you've been puttering
around inside it for ages
now. You know the exact placement
and relish the impalpable
smell of every stained stick and nicked
up corner of its furniture so well
that you never even think of them
as being there at all—which is why
you also never think to clean
underneath them anymore. And even
when making the least consequential
of decisions, no matter where you are,
you cannot help but perfectly
picture the dim color of its
walls and the precise way they make
your sickened voice reverberate
whenever your ears
hear it say—okay.
