Immortality poem

I am in a room

a cigarette-holed tan sofa and cat-haired black futon are arranged against joining cream-colored walls

in a backwards L-shape

the coffee table is made from wood and glass

with a convenient little underside compartment keeping pristine horse magazines and battered New Yorkers

an empty banana yellow flower pot languishes on a small wooden table in a dirty corner

it smells like cat litter

a desk painted entirely sky blue taken from a soon-to-be shutting down local junior high

lives against the window

and underneath that the guilty litter box

a faucet somewhere can be heard dripping every 10 seconds

there are negative 2 TVs

and a fake fern in the northwest (I believe) corner of the room

making sure I don’t leave anything out

even the crumbs of the gray carpet

wheat thin debris

must be


how else to live forever?

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