The hunter lines his trophies up across his wall, beneath his bed…A tiger’s head, a snakeskin rug, slugs in a jug, the bugs make halos ’round his phone. He’d call his friends to come around — they’d all get stoned when he pulled old Medusa moaning from a sack. She poses then she cracks their mirror shades. It’s just her way. He let’s her play a while then throws her back, then they all go fishing in the reservoir…
I see. I see from my room. I see from my room with a view.
My room’s nothing special. All the furniture is old. They smashed up all my windows, so it’s cold. I told city hall to build a wall to stop the outside coming inside but they’ve stalled…I’m lord of this manor but it’s 30 feet across and falling fast; I sprawl in plaster, bricks and garbage — through the ceiling I see blue — I see you!
