i lay

 
i lay
 
i lay in bed and i
enjoy the stillness
of things.

shadows are vast
but dont move; there may
be a world outside of this room
 
but certain is this not. not an inch
of my body can move
and my heart has surely stopped
 
for i am now part of this
furniture, sown into blank sheets;
a canvas coffin to be written upon

of love and self-indulgent dreams - were
it not that my fingers have been carved 
into wood and never could for a start.

and so i am stiller than still
unconsciously resting on the floor-
board, one bunch of atoms besides another
yet still a world apart.