The Windows We Cannot Reach

I lay down on the carpet and stretch out,

Almost swallowed by sleep:

That great beacon of the inconsequential.

I am

The law of averages

Hidden in the masses.


I become the eye


Internal features mimic outdoor elements

Like a poor man’s luxury


Replacing the slate desertscapes.

We are always drawn to the original,

Famously illuminated outside the window like Vegas.

Heirlooms gather dust across rooms;

Teaching us of the time that passes all

And leaves its trace,

Discolored streaks on the windows we cannot reach:

A bane to all who inhabit yet a signifier of, again, the law,

Containing us in the uniformity

Of average.