We paint ourselves into corners,
shady, feverish, asphyxiating corners,
where we pace and gasp for breath.
A single bulb dangles between us.
A crumpled map and a pair of glasses
drown in a puddle of light on the table.
A chair askew between light and shadows,
another tipped over backward where it fell,
clatter still lingering, temper’s testament.

(Source: “Chiaroscuro”, 40×41: Midlife Crisis Postponed)

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