I fell back onto my spring-born bed,
a board bouncing against the resistant mattress.
The three-o-clock sun scraped through the buildings,
the gaping holes through Manhattan’s skyline.
Extending over to the planes of my window,
the light stretched through each metal blind,
casting shadows and creeping across my limp limbs.
The wall unit blasted conditioned air and swirled strands of nothingness around my room -
a torturous chill contrasting the exterior rays, warming my skin through the glass panels.
I laid there and embraced the thaw – A smile crawled over my lips.
I sat up and gazed at the wall, noticing how the lines folded in the creases of my
sheets and cut into the sharp vertexes of the planes.
Lazily, the lines slid upward and passed with the shifting sun.
I held a prism in one hand, letting its heavy pendant –dangle– outstretched from my arm,
detached from my body.
I watched it sway weightlessly from my fingertips;
I admired its rainbows, painting geometrics across the scarred walls.
I live for this.
New York – August, 2014.