I often sit in the center of the room,
dark in corners and littered by
pizza boxes and discarded magazines
pornography and poetry

And it is quiet here, and it is quiet everywhere;
not a drop, nary a whisper - silence,
except for the crackle of the television set
and the neighborhood men
drunk in public.

I fiddle with the strings attached to my pants
and flip channels for a Lifetime movie;
kitty cat mews at the door, I fumble
for the lightswitch.

Masturbation is terribly exotic,
unfamiliar here after rows of slim, black
bullet vibrators that hummed like the roar of a car
Forgetfulness seeps in, beneath the door where
the light shines, through the phone lines -
Change the channel again. 4 am.

And here I am,
strong, disciplined, and cultured -
naked in bed before the t.v.