box_spring raze this fabric-shrouded wooden frame cloaked in cardboard is older than i am. i'm not sure if it's burnished paper rubbing against the wood, or if it's a network of metal springs and wires making contact. but something below deck moves when i do. the cardboard is stapled to the slats. i've seen the places where it's torn. some springs must be broken by now. there's a deep dip in the place where i lay myself down to sleep, but only the mattress knows about that. the base beneath my bed supports my weight as well as it ever has. its faint voice tricks me into thinking something other than my own buried ambition is nesting here, and it makes me want to ask my maker: if i spend every waking moment flat on my back, what kind of bird will i be when my shoulders sprout wings? 220420 what's it to you? who go blather from