Stand within surprising proximity
of the sickly-painted walls
in the toilet room.
Beat your head or simply stare
and philosophize
about the impediment of this moment
as you wonder what’s to come
of your life
once you flush and come out.
You may become a poet
or you may burn
everything that has died in your head -
reverberating
as it resonates with the sudden idea
of freedom from words.
And then you flush
come out
and find yourself
within surprising proximity
of you in the mirror.
You that cares no longer
About the fucking paradise
Where birds once sang.