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it could find nowhere in my caverns,
and so made new ones,
rusted tearing echoing off every wall.
i am a room of unbeing.

here: you must understand.
the thought of being a room
surpasses legitimate confines.
your bones are hollow.
you are wingless.
yet thumbprints smear across your face;
you are an object.
the sharp division of
day and night insist,
insist.
to reconcile the two,
an ocean ravages the lining
of your body.
each morning you wake
to its drunken lurch against
the nearest thoracic wall.

understand this.
to hear the voice of god
is to hear the swelling miscreation
skulking in the trusses.