I Am Still Here

It’s not as if a three-armed scarlet switch

is thrown at night, and all the stars explode

or flash like angry light-bugs in the pitch

to telegraph reversed electric code.

You set your letters carefully in type,

but, to my eyes, the signs fall out of place.

Euphoria turns slowly overripe.

I am still here, but not inside my space.

The walls do not grow ears, or eyes, or speak.

They grow no ears to eyes. I feel them hear.

I do not hear a voice. I know they shriek.

I know they have no eyes. I feel them leer.

I never hear a voice that does not speak.

My heel offends the gods; the floorboards creak.