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28 April 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: the rooms have us
Water turned down clock, beginning nightmares with “because I said so…”, open arrogance
and shifting lines and lives, finding my ninth one now or probably we’ve all lost count of how many times
I’ve been picked up off the floor, own muscles bitter strength, winding the room into configurative wonder and disgruntling style
smells linger way past the best expiry date, milk cruising down the counter, a trip to the sink
to whatever lives down there, smoothing out the wrinkles on the pipe, oozing into stunning Sunday rain or that
might have been yesterday, too hard to tell in any case, wounding just by the look
incredible terror, soft beginnings with crashing ends, and ignorance of the law of the room
doesn’t mean it’s on your side.
J.D. Harms 2021
Prompt:
Around two decades ago, I wrote a poem titled “Sentencing Room” (I recently published the fourth episode in The Rebel Poets Society). As the quintessential starving artist, I wrote about a poet who’s room comes to life, begins to take on a sexual manifestation as he tries to get out of it. Truth is, I generally prefer emptier rooms. The…
