I lay down on the carpet and stretch out,
Almost swallowed by sleep:
That great beacon of the inconsequential.
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