one

INTERIM

A sharp click

shrouds the room in abrupt darkness.

For one moment, I am suspended and two pinwheels race

before my eyes.

Then, the floor rises to my feet again

and I move forward

cautiously

until the bed collides with me.

I tumble inside and burrow

beneath the clutching blankets.

Ever so slowly

the room stops its mad race

around the bed,

and my saturated brain clears.

Then comes the loneliness;

the room,

empty, echoing,

the bed,

a vast wasteland.

Please,

hurry back

and restore us to life.

Ralph Wyatt, Jr.

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