In the early evening there was orchestrated pleasure
only to return to an empty room.
Uncomfortably waiting for something that was not there
restless upon a mattress on the hard wood floor
I starred at the patterns formed
by the cracks in the poorly constructed walls
of the deteriorating ,post-war,bricked
three story shelter.
The fact that we are at all times both living in a dream
and a nightmare was frightening my mind
as my eye twitched and my throat clenched.
Just a few days had gone by since I was up
and then I had fell so hard even the rats
Keep there distance.
There with all that I had created
the minister to my own soul
smashing out years of agitation
The cracks seemed to mirror my existence.
Maybe it was the beer or some of Socrates wisdom
there in the darkness
I was able to muster a laugh.