The House Where it is Impossible Not to Fall in Love Poem by Zoë Skoulding

In the flick of an eye
the room shrinks to a double pulse
and you recognise half of everything

The chairs
too far apart
teeter

Extravagant fables gather in doorways
circulate like draughts with no reference

to the real
which disappears
under the carpet

when your voice at breaking point
rolls over a mouthful of bricks

to fill these crumbling arches that have
opened up all over you

and you should go home now but you never can