The room slows to
that frame between

Any laughter or voice or song
dissipates in the periphery.

A disequilibrium
functions and the structure
of things is altered.

Perhaps the room condenses
in certain areas, around

object A or B.

Negative space seeps from each.

This, I believe,
a reprieve from the day's
paranoia and politics of worry.

An erasure of
stressors

or blood unsung,
blood not spent,
clothes not rent.

Listing
in the terrible
nothing blowing through the
tightened channelets of unchoice.
Then submersing
back into this.

This underwater love.
This sunk suspicion.
This coalcold conscious collapse.
This lassitude or torpor or languor or lingering malingering singed binge.