In high-up abandoned rooms,
in broad waterless circuits,
I continue to avoid the acrid smoke.
Pulleys and bending tubes
invade broken halls,
clocks put out wilting feelers,
transparent doors lock
and the dark smoke curls
against them in an ocean.
I drink the light from ceiling bulbs
and long electric pipes.
Banquet tables untouched
and wide uninhabited floors
have vacuumed feet and faces away.
If I crack my head with ice,
if I fall crookedly on my torso,
what billows and blacks out
may be revealed through me
and break the watching glass.