Ground Level

The landlord's keys are cold and thin.

I dragged the box across the pine

to where the light is coming in

and tried to draw a steady line.

The foam is cheap, a four-inch lie

between me and the dust and grit.

I watched the evening drain the sky

and felt the floorboards start to knit

into my spine. The fitted sheet

srapped off the corner with a sound

like someone giving up the fight.

It’s cold as hell down on the ground.