Lake Providence

Tonight I am awake
in a house with wood paneling,
the swirling eyes of dead trees peering
accusatory.

The door to my bedroom has no knob
on the inside,
and I can hear its tidal motion
when the air comes on.

The highway passes alongside
and threatens to enter
into my REM cycle.
Succeeds.

It's the kind of place
that grows romantic on you
until it rots.