this stillness
in the blood
we fail to bury
what is still
this stillness

the silverware is oily
hair is oily
music becomes oily
when it leaves the speakers
the stillness
weighs down the drums

beneath the quiver
of a doorbell
that is a kitchen knife
rising over a block of

so well dressed
no hot water
no heat
no hot water
for almost two weeks

the pads
of the cat's paws
tap away from you
towards the door

the doorbell again
you look at your phone
you shiver
to your blankets