174: Downstairs Room

I should get up
and find function,
but the town
hasn’t moved,

not since beer-dippers
passed at eleven.
No commute traffic,
to shine bezier curves,
across this dark room.

An autobiography,
pre-browser histories,
as I fell back into
that re-rattled sleep.

One night, unfolded,
sofa bed stiff;
lost lives here,
inside this room.

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