The dog down
the street is barking.

I am sick of lightbulbs and the dust
that gathers on them,

the ignominious colors
that settle on our faces
like grime.

The dog is barking
and the owner
down the street
yells to SHUT UP.

I am sick of white walls
and printed plates and floral prints,

the facsimile of life,

the electric lamp which glows
regardless of when
you admitted defeat

and accepts no capitulation
as long as you pay
the bill.