place where i gulp,

a tiny back room

somewhere distant and indistinct,

or a small house off a backroad &

cozy with little turkish rugs, crayon-colored furniture and things,

dollhouse-size, but alive,

flexing wide like a spongy sea creature

or lung. forming want.

[    ]

i try plying it with different tastes—tea, chorizo, avocado, nuts—

but nothing doing;

no more than opening and shutting windows

stalls the mount to heat frenzy and returning chill;

the gape stays still,

shadowed like Humphrey Bogart in a trenchcoat on some staircase

(stirring for a cigarette)