I woke up with seventeen revelations
on the seventeenth floor
in room seventeen-oh-seven

early morning demons alive and well

five clocks
five different hours
(none of which reflect the current local time)
each having strategically stopped over the years in tandem with my heart
each started again of its own accord
                                                     some random count of seventeen later

I have grown weary of looking at all of you
your predictable, twisted, numbered faces
and You – blinking digitally – ever prodding – a lyric eternally stuck in my head

I reach over and unceremoniously yank Your plug from the wall
(has this truly not occurred to me until now?)

No change
No problem
my stiletto makes short order of Your face
I smile as your light fades
I will not miss You

Four to go

This one is made of wood
and hairspray makes a fun flame thrower


This one is cold and hard
I strike with a hammer seventeen times

You shattered at the first strike but I don’t stop
I count out loud
by the end I’m screaming
by the end You are dust

This one is tiny
I had forgotten it was here at all

Tossed out the window
it has seventeen floors to think about what it’s done

the view is glorious

The last has no significance
An afterthought

seventeen revelations and I sit in a less cluttered seventeen-oh-seven
and search the web
for something good to watch on tv
Copyright 2019 Kat Downs


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