Perforate the curtains and the roof,
amplify the kettle till the bulb
breaks, disassemble, brick by brick,
the egg yolk yellow sitting room
if that will let the stars in, the rain,
the pollens that perfume blonde bees—
whatever it is that piques, greens,
plumes and makes the home no place
to live for the living, whatever it is
that makes inside a disgrace, where
even outside is barely enough space
for the eyes of one body to exist.
Photo of honeycomb courtesy Pixabay.