a room made of music sustains itself
in me by means of its sensory twins
where music is color and also space
where music could be the splitting of greens
or teals in how I can sometimes hear it
where in my mind it’s also a building
cluttered and swampy as the mind may be
or just my mind more useful than my face
but stuck on the Philly Zoo monorail
which has long been replaced by a balloon
which I’ve never been on but which triggered
my absorption with balloonists all green
and implicated in trying in bed to
picture your face and getting yellow roads