A lecture on four corners

sometimes i think i'm in a room,

a room with four corners

the floor holds past

the ceiling holds future

a corner for recklessness

a corner for joy

a corner that's pink

a corner to think

sometimes the floor and ceiling

crumble together and compress

the past and future merge violently

so hard there's no room for present

i have died once before

in one of the four corners

how strange it had felt

to see the ceiling rain 

usually i caress the solitude

owned by the corner to think

for the corner of joy is false

and hangs a permanent sign:

"this is but a fragile world,

HOUSES AND BODIES AND ROOMS
WE ALL ROT THE SAME."