The floor is better for the spine

The floor is better for the spine.

I’m lying where the carpet meets the base,

staring at the slow and wobbling line

the ceiling fan is drawing in this space.

I clicked it up to high to catch a breeze

and felt a grey and greasy pellet land

right on my cheek, a clump of old degrees

of grit I couldn't bear to understand.

Three years of breathing caught upon a blade,

a felt-like crust of skin and lint and hair.

It hangs above the bed that I have made,

the heavy residue of being there.