The wet edge of the world
The roller left a wet
Textured topography
On the drywall
A fresh
Continent
Of liquid chalk
Under a steady
Unblinking gaze
The gloss begins to warp
The fumes carry
A quiet hum, a frequency
That unlatches the deadbolt of the mind
My eyes
Track
A single, rebellious drip
A slow-motion comet
Cutting through
A matte sky
In the five seconds
It takes
To drop an inch
I have built
A city
In my head
Lived a lifetime
Inside a song
I forgot the title of
And wondered
If the sky
Feels this heavy right before it rains
The perimeter is curing now
Turning dull
At the edges
By the time
This surface
Loses its shine
I will have traveled
Lightyears
And forgotten my way back
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