APARTMENT SONG

The faucet drips
The ceiling fan turns
over and over
I am not the first to live in this
predictable apartment room
and surely no person that has slept in this bed
above these floors
could ever count the countless times
the fan blades of that mindless machine
have cut into the air
Who cares

I am thinking of the temperature
and my parking spot
and the people I must call
and drinking enough water
and paying the bills
and the songs I must finish
and why my mother loved me and who my father was
and why my brother said those things
that I could never say
and why those lonely
lost unloved
women
crawled into my bed
and waited for my love
to fill them up
and why I cried at stupid tv shows
and cooked alone
and wasted amber blue and purple nites
beneath the crushing blow of time
and every pair of wings that turned to dust
under a 60watt light bulb
before it blew out on the porch

I sucked
the pin prick salty drop of blood
and called out for my mother.