Exile, Dystopia, etc.
Latest reports seem to say I’m out of control,
But I’m not even out of bed,
Could it be a concern with what I’m saying
To myself, by myself?
But I can’t believe these walls are really that thin,
Or my indoor voice is really that loud
Maybe they’re hearing the mattress releasing
Its boing when I move,
The springs are not what they used to be,
Since this resting place
Was a donation from the last leaseholder
Who held title to the room
I never had a chance to know these corners
By lounging on a fresh piece of furniture,
And likewise my neighbors
Never got to know me many nights ago
When I could stay in bed
With silence covering me like another blanket
Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. He writes poetry, prose, and the occasional political flotsam and jetsam. In his spare time, he likes to go to a law firm and edit documents related to asbestos litigation. Occasionally they pay him for this. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.
