Doorways

The doorways are blocked by
piles of overflowing cardboard
boxes, and the walls of all the rooms
are starting to look the same.
They blame all the burn marks
in the carpet on the unstable
ash trays of microscopic pilots;
they make their rounds regularly,
and with engines that can fly right
past your ear and stay completely silent.
They sit on their knees by the coffee table
and sketch scenes of violence with blue
and green colored pencils, since the reds
were all taken away due to over use.
They work with such focus that
eventually everything around them fades away
and all there can be is the image in front of them.
Samurai chopping the legs off of giant spiders,
and puddles of green blood that tear through
the page itself.

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