In a room

In a room with soft, embossed padding,
No windows, and is there a door at the side?
My eyes slide the walls, smiling and adding,
Hypotheses in which I can choose to confide!

I’ve been in this room for a number of years,
Or a count of days that I can’t quite recall,
The passage of time—a plot that appears,
In a windowless sky, in a doorless wall...

In a room with soft, constricted padding,
I’m permitted to stay here, at least for a while,
What’s behind success or a failure so maddening,
Why is a thought or a line in my style?

And it seems like nothing is really happening,
But I feel like the walls once glowed with a light,
I search for some clothes, for the weather's awakening,
But there’s no such wardrobe or outfit in sight!

I see that my world is only a sketch,
My soft room—a scream to the void, nothing more,
My gaze is a prisoner, a dream-haunted wretch,
Having once accepted a false axiom before.

What is this room, and what is this softness?
What is this news of the planet today,
Caught in ordinary fascism's darkness?
I lazily yawn and continue my way...
living?

In a room with soft, embossed padding,
In a room with soft, constricted padding.