The armchair sticks against the frame

The armchair sticks against the frame,

a foot of velvet pinned by wood.

I thought the math was still the same,

and that I understood.

I pull the yellow ribbon out

to find where the deception lies.

It wavers with a silver doubt

before my very eyes.

I lose my grip and watch it fly,

a jagged, snapping hiss of chrome.

It bites my thumb and makes me cry

inside this shrinking home.