The Counting House 

Spoonfuls of hollow 
And vertebrae darkness 
Distance revolving
A sense sent to wander

Mealtime at tile house
The ivory, flesh castle
Which holds onto eyesight
Through a pole under arch

Insert a full smile
With hotel and sameness
A piece gone to soot
A head gone to countdown

Ticket torn doorway
To bedroom we fall
A slight case of absence
Onto numbers we sit