I sift through rust as it spreads

from my lips past my kneecaps

& watch as it finally unfolds

against the wrinkled old

eyelid of the shower faucet

 

Hard water bulbs stick

against porcelain-stacked walls

my face

in a mirror invaded with tropic steam

possesses no visible feature

 

Limby sprouts of mold

complain feverishly on the grout

but there’s something about

the misshapen tone in its voice

that couldn’t make better company

 

This dilapidated goddamned state

of mind deserves

no spot on the map

no effort of documentation

or any poorly-forged

cockeyed signature of its own

& yet

 

& yet

I’ve lived here for years