The Vanished Room

Walled-in disquiet, the window painted white
on the inside. Overlooking the high street
like a malignant eye.
The room a hate-furnace:
inside a brandy barrel, liquid dark divides,
begins to curdle.

No matter how often the corridor paced,
where the room should be is vanished.
What made the girl’s eyes roll white
threatens to seep out of the bilge,
the barrel to explode in shards
each time you gaze up at the window,
looking back sightless.

Published in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight