many rooms, 7
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where everything made sense “My Father’s house has many rooms”
an infinitesimal almost capillary fissure on the thinnest layer of coating has stared back at me from the blank surface
I’ve spent hours in front of this crevice sometimes confident (it’s a normal dilatation in the vinyl or the stucco or the plaster reacting to changes in temperature or dampness or uneven settlement) sometimes curious (where does it start or end? does it look like anything?) or distracted (there’s a lot of other stuff around here listen to all that’s going on outside!) often bored
for an instant I’ve thought that this negligible crack on the skin of a wall is the crack and the paint and the stucco the cement and the sand and the bricks and the wall and the room and the house and the city where I try to sit still
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