the room is baring its teeth

This is an exercise in blankness. The angles of the bare room stand out and compute. There is a certain western loneliness in every ninety degrees, so I invert. I consume. Out the window, across the verdant hill, a light flickers. It holds some meaning. Someone in that room twists his allegory, defines his scope. I wonder what he lists and where his crumpled notations will end up. This is an exercise in doubt, a belief in serried numbers. This is an erasure. This is an exercise in blankness.