There’s a draft coming up the stairs from the tiny room;
the vibes aren’t all that good so I avoid going down there unless it’s a complete necessity,
which is usually only twice a year.
There’s a hole in the kitchen wall covered by a stopped clock.
The insulation could be better but I like the fact that I’m sheltered from the elements
by a broken countdown towards extinction.
There’s a hole in the ceiling pointing to the north star
reassuring me I’ll find my way home, as long as there’s no clouds or airplanes
in the night sky,
and my alignment’s cosmically exact.