Come stumbling down the halfways of the hall, wide, wide patches of white to the sides, sanded and trimmed with lengths of birch. Chambers bloom on all sides of the corridors, aspirating through a woven grid...drops on the paste-hung, creamed wallpaper with tangled hawthorn vine-curl, culminate bursts.
Sparks gently turn, pouring from corner-sockets. Up above, the stars are flat in the sky, but behind that level wall the starpoints linger away into filaments, and gently each crosses its others, as fluttering ganglia in that claret space behind the wide wall.
Where you lodge in, stumbling, is lodged firmly, see, in the midst of such filagrees; you part from a troublesome door and ease under, your clothes all on, huffing under the mattress...stretches, breath curling out and frosting the bedside. The stars, and sitting beneath their level seats—in the window—the run of the ribs of this town.
-2001
