The Same Room Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is the same box
and i arrived too early
and it is cleaned
instantly for my arrival
it is this money that
works for me.

this is my box of silence
and i can hear what the
curtains are saying.

the room asks me to open
its windows
and i oblige for it wants
to get away from its
own box of
silence

it begins to speak,
what i like is the song of the wind
even in the city
without the trees and the breeze.

the song makes my feet of cement
it says it all
and what i detest most is the dance
of the ceiling

where the lights swing and
i begin to whirl
lost in the convolutions of myself.

the spiral soul
the depths still unfathomed
the calls that disperse
and become thin
until it is gone.