“Fallout spreads from racist rhetoric at Trump’s MSG rally.” – Politico

I’ve been staring at the wall for hours,
wondering why the paint won’t peel off,
what’s holding the plaster together.

I twirl a pen, lean back in my chair,
regard its tired squeal, regard the sky-
like expanse of the ceiling, turn over

in my mind the choices before me. I
ask the wood for answers, imagine its
beams exposed to my eyes, naked as fear,

try to find meaning in the grain. I blink,
I search in vain for a window, for light. Now
it’s pitch-dark and the wall is laughing at me,

the wall is moving like a spider, like ink
dripping down my back, the wall is heavy,
the wall is teeming with black mold, is a

window unto nothing, a sensory deprivation
chamber, still my senses are alive, I can feel
every fiber of carpet moving like worms

beneath my feet, the doors have fallen away,
there is a void like a lump in the throat, the air
is charged as though a storm were coming

but there is no weather here, a loudspeaker
announced that nature died at the sawmill
and there will be no funeral, tomorrow the

sprinklers will run, the mail will come on time:
I have been staring at the wall for years,
undecided if I want it all to come crashing down.