TV talks to an empty couch
the welts on my knuckle
weigh somber with solitude.
Pale perfumed pink petals permeate
a picture-day backdrop of slurry grey
its fluorescent possibility illuminating
the lonely screen. It flickers at me,
frightening what within remains
staving off splinters, asleep,
adrift on an under inflated mattress,
extracted from hard old cash.