My bedroom is filled to the ceiling

With the earth’s dead weight

With the harvest of full lives

Frozen in pose

 –

Their colors grow dull

Behind plastic frames

Giving the last of their light

To this scrapyard of reveries  

–

Gone are the rushing moments

Of gilded eyesight,

When precious lumber and stone

Were lined perfectly in place

–

Here in their hollow space

A gnawing hunger remains

Seeking to swallow whole  

The earth’s true and bold colors