Hone Avenue

 

I took a room on Hone avenue

It was as close as I could get

 

With a job that fills me full 

Of starch and cigarettes

 

Watch a lot of old movies

Between people at my job

 

There are no flights of stairs  

The street opens on the hall

 

TV on at the neighbors

Children’s voices behind doors

 

I close mine and silences 

Start to carve the walls 

 

The objects in here 

Have souls 

 

The books are 

Heavy and soft

 

The chair reaches up

To hold me 

 

When I’m afraid

Of the dark