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Poems without Explanations.

Combatants circle
In a black velvet void.
It was never a fair fight.
The colors, now dimmed,
Succumbed
To nicotine and dust.

Living room walls
Papered in red crushed velvet
Spill outwards,
Coagulating into furniture.
Pooling into shag carpet.

Full ash trays.
Lighters. Matches.
A shoelace necklace
With two keys,
One for each house.
The morning relay race.
The baton runs the last leg
Alone.

The box is not hidden.
There is no lock.
Hinges that creak only once.

An echo becomes a siren song
In isolation.