Clouds of thought tinged millennial pink
but mine tainted red, red, red.
‘cross empty festooned rooms
(each click, each clack, each flip, each flop,
each crack – the whip! – upon rib cage)
where splintered bone becomes sandy beach.
Loneliness can be lived in, put up with.
Loneliness can be constructed
blue stone by blue stone by…
the world shrinks to one.
Absence, well, who can build a house in absentia,
a house that creaks and groans and moans and
shrieks, wrought, wrought, overcome?