Poem

...This Is Not the Room of polished tables lit with medalled torsos bent toward microphones where ears lean hands scribble “working the dark side” —glazed eye meeting frozen eye— This is not the room where tears down carven cheeks track rivulets in the scars left by the gouging tool where wood itself is weeping where the ancient painted eye speaks to the living eye This is the room where truth scrubs around the pedestal of the toilet flings her rag into the bucket straightens up spits at the mirror —Adrienne Rich...