W. Vandoren Wheeler

Philosophical Indigestion

Neglected sludge snails 

up my Basement walls.

Kitchen floats above,

on its sheen of everyclean.

A slow swirling con-

fuses the Basement

with movement.

Kitchen polishes its 

teeth with its stain-

less steel gaze.

Sloshed on weepage,

Basement mumbles upward.

Kitchen traces frantic

stitches, sips its glass

of lemon cleaner tighter.

Stinks, pungent per-

fumes, unknown mush-

rooms SLASH

cooking vodka, antibacterial

garlic, antiseptic paprika!

The new food I want

and old shit I can’t forget

sandwich me: the black

up-creep approaching

the plastic-wrapped ceiling.

Then sudden sunlight

from a forgotten window

hopes to shows us which

one I am:

Me, immo-

bile on the stairs.