The difference between this room and the next

is the side of the door, the price of the rent. The space underneath blinks darkness and light; I glare furtively from the side of eye. I know I see shadows dancing=-I can"t dance... I know that they"re singing a song just for me--Please! I cannot dance! Just slide my plate under some deniability or under some vocabulary or jocundity. Clean. On all fours: I promise; just &ssure me I'm low enough. My devotion, prostrate, knows you,, love, by the height of your malice. Conscript me to cupbear your oceans with just the mouth of my chalice,, Down to the drink, dowm to dead things, down with bread and blood geyser springs. Down through the sum of hot-streak winnings and cashes and stogies and steaks and fiery boozey breath whistling dixie. Down in the Northernmost states, where dismembered jaws bite at firesmoke days. We drown in moats as a family damm it. In the rest, we watch M¥A¥S*H* reruns and get high on TV dinner fumes. And divorce. I look down my nose at my what"s mine is mine, leaning ever further backwards in my recliner, but always good and high. As for the business of...that, over there... furtive, I glare from the side of my eye.