the tree in the yard has a heart that is red
you live in a room without chairs or a bed
only a mattress you keep on the floor
it makes accusations
it’s thin and it snores
it watches at night and records all your dreams
writes it all down with invisible ink
violins play and they used to sound sweet
the flies in the sugar bowl used to be meat
what used to be rain washed out all the roads
what used to be faith was traded for rope
violins play through a hole in the floor
you live in a room with a mattress that snores
the flowers are dying
the vases are cracked
your face has a string that ties in the back
the mirror shows only the back of your head
and the tree in the yard has a heart that was red.