the color of red wine

staining a tabletop

reflected in the light of passing cars

and a muted television.

nobody is here;

i am not here:

only a fly buzzing from corner to corner.

yesterday a homeless man

asked me for a cigarette.

he held my hand as i talked with him

watching my fingertips

and wished me a good night.

a mushroom rots in the kitchen sink,

and the smell of stale cigarettes clings to the bedsheets;

the telephone rings, rings, and falls silent.