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.