the fifth wall

high square walls painted red stare back
at my vacant eyes, there is a window

letting in grey sunlight, I imagine wintertime
whether the moon wanes matters no longer
I think the walls may be rectangular in length
my immobile shadow measures nothing any more

content to lie with it on the brass stained carpet
where warmth comes from deep below, gifted from hell
the fifth wall guards all my secrets tied neatly
in the lace of a thousand spiders who have caught

my soul for safekeeping, though I do not move
now I will no longer attempt to free myself
sometimes it bends with the memory of the wind
cold and harsh, my voice cries out tearing wounds
in the silence of my prison, the fifth wall is not
painted daily, but covered in blunt colors of survival

its images fade, often projected in lighthouse beams
those details which need to be forgotten, my eyes close
I am not among the angels nor the demons, yet,
no path is chosen towards a deathly decadence
nor do I wish for peaceful things like clouds rising
towards an immobile eternity of frilly promises
often I have sat atop the fifth wall, looking down, scowling
at the slick red ones, wondering how I could crush them

how long have I been inside these walls, my silent rhymes
are the marks I paint to touch the future, they have no meter
I am voiceless, having traded my need to communicate
for verses of unbelievers ringing as a litany in my ears
I have lost the melody, though the harmonies humble still
my ethereal ideals which occasionally sing the sour tunes

I cannot untie the knots joining the charred bricks of the fifth wall
my fingers are numb, the lace is too fine, its ropes rebound
in a dreamlike trance, one night it will disappear, and if I will it
my death will consume the nightmares with dust and ashes

four satin walls will become my new oak haven, the fifth wall
of finely veined marble, a place of coldness I will never touch
never experience the loss sweeping from the engraved words
to our beloved … who will replace the plastic grief-filled flowers?

I have been the willing prisoner of my life, tasting nothing
but my desire to vanquish the sense of never belonging



the fifth wall
[2007.1.11…a]