Face down
In a room of all white
The sheets are white
The drapes are white
The walls are white
Even the chandelier is white
But the bulbs are clear
And the floor is the color of wood
It’s quiet as can be
It’s simple
Simple as it can be right now
The simplicity of white
The simplicity of the night
All the details are washed out
Either by darkness
Or whiteness
Or silence
A creak in the wall
Is the first sound I’ve heard
Other than a car outside
I could go on and on like this
Even about nothingness
Probably forever
Combining the same words
In different orders
And even the orders
Would eventually become the same
There’s something to that
Even if I wrote it all
And you read it all
You wouldn’t remember
This life isn’t about the words
There’s something behind them
There’s a meaning
But it’s not the dictionary definitions
It’s more meaning than that
It’s the meanest meaning
It’s the silent white room at night
It’s the singularity of all words
At any moment
It is what it is
And that’s not too complicated
It just is what it is
And the words try to get at that
But the more we write
The more we read
The farther away we get
It just is
Right here
Right now
And the writing is a dance around it
It’s really the sheet against my cheek
And the static sound of silence
And there I go again
With the words
It just is
As it is
And that’s it
That’s all of it