A messy mind for our perfect kind.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
Photo by Nathan Dumlao
“Those faces on the walls…”
This room is messy,
cluttered table, ashtrays, papers;
smoke is rising
and the fog expanding
filling up the empty spaces.
Those faces on the walls
sing in unison, aloud
about my lack of self-control
as I trip on plastic bottle
and fall face down on the floor.
Nostrils sniffing carpet,
the one that never kissed a vacuum,
the one I cherish most,
for its age and bravery
and my secrets that it’s hiding.
It’s no wonder now,
why I’m struggling to type a word –
this brain is cluttered
with a stinking, shallow,
empty mess.
Poetry by Vladimir Fischer
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