No One’s Calling

An ominous rumble.

A blue chair

Balancing on two legs

In the dim corner

Against the grey wall.

Dingy yellow curtains

Ruffled edges dangling

Flit in the wind

Coming through the slimmest

Of cracks in the window

That rattles in its wooden frame.

A dead cell phone.

The freedom

Or the prison

To imagine

Almost anything

Or nothing

In pure isolation.

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