Something Less Than a Nihilist

Alex LeGrys

The couch was stripped of its

cushions, the floor surrendered its

rug, and the walls had ridden of its

tapestries and paintings, just as one hand

robs the other of its wedding ring

the house cat was feral with worry, and

the chamomile tea paced in its teacup,

searching the floor for a stronger sedative

the night was still awake: saggy-eyed and desperate;

pining over the fleeting sun, fondling the moon,

groping the dimming light as it dragged its feet

the palette of navy lingered out of pity,

the crescent smiled nervously, and the clouds

stepped backwards to avoid the encounter

I longed for a switch to put them out of

their misery, or at least a curtain to draw but

the windows hung unclothed before me:

transparent and limbless.