Feathering the Vignette

I close my eyes

And the remnants of a frame are embedded,

Stuck as teenagers in mud,

A fixed point on an axis.

 

The vertical asymptote of the stale air

Is no purification system

Aside from the oil

The charcoal

The closer I get to the wall

The more I feel like a god.

 

A Greek goddess would never suffice,

My feminine angst

Lost in a golden reflections

On the golden plates on frames.

 

I am a masculine god in this place.

Dominance in society’s vignette.

 

Outside of this stagnate room

Dwell the people

Dwells the consumption of oxygen—

Dioxide waste pool

Of ignorance.

 

I open my eyes to the madness.