The Ceiling
And the roof caves in.
Rain falls.
Prisms mist off the glass frames,
hung from papered walls.
Seated on flowered sofas,
bathing in their plastic covers.
Beds fill with water
in the bedrooms of lovers.
Sailing ships are sewn in pillows
by the hands of old grandmothers.
Schools of pianos practice scales
in clouds of bubbles.
Drown in it.
Holding my breath.
Drift away.
An hour older.
Drown again.
Let all my sin
wash away
like someone else's.
Like it all was a dream,
or a lie,
the ceiling.