of this poem (unfurnished)

1. the room of this poem: i know you came here because you wanted to feel better. we all do. it's a natural response. the first refuge, the ultimate sanctuary. what happened to the velvet cushioned couch, softly sprung? where is the cozy lamplit nook? the fuzzy blanket?

2. the paper in this poem:

find the paper crumpled and then uncrumpled

pressed smooth over the edge, rubbed down

ink shaved off through these repeated launderings

is it cloth or paper      so worn smooth, translucent

if you look, you can see through me too, lighter 

than lace or gauze, thin fog made thinner by the 

fabric/paper that thins rubbed down and disappears

one word hanging in the dust of the tender fibers left

as everything passes into nothing, slowly

or quickly

that word that's left, the word in the dust that was fiber that was

words written on paper, the words that the dust of us makes

before blowing off, that's the name of this poem

unreadable, illegible, everywhere present

3. the timbre of this poem: this poem is barren. without comforts. you came with expectations, unresolved parameters, a desire to be different than you are. stop it. accept your sudden and abiding grief, how you've been destroyed. there are no soft edges here. there is no resolution. there is no comfort for you. is it just a large white space, unfurnished? there isn't even anywhere
to sit down.