Z: Rhombus KNows What to Do

Rhombus Knows What to Do

The darkened room is empty
save for a half glass of water
in its exact centre.
Rhombus lifts the glass
and makes his decision.
Clothing himself in the remnants
of his doubt
he takes up the pen
and begins to carve words
into the ceiling.
Standing on the table thus created
he looks from the window
into the fog that is now his future
and smiles
breathing the fog in
to fill his lungs with possibility,
exhaling plans and dreams
to be ignored.
He tears a page from the book
in front of him
and taking a pair of garden shears
cuts it into four hundred pieces
each containing a single word.
help
He rolls the words into a cigarette
me
and lights them with a flaming pen
please
sucking them into the cancerous swamp
within his lungs
somebody
and breathes them into his poems.

Where they lie, meaningless
and reluctant as a light-bulb
in an open circuit.
In the shade of midnight,

Rhombus digs a trench in the room
six foot long and six foot deep
where he finds the case
of magnetic discs
wrapped in a parchment
which cracks as he unfolds it
turning to dust in his claws.
He lays the discs over his words
and watches them
crackle and sparkle in the blackness
spilling scent of ozone into the spaces
between his thoughts
illuminating them
to show the new-born child
playing with his alphabet blocks.