The hallway floor

[own]

The hallway floor is cold

I feel it on my legs
Through my jeans
on my skin


The hallway floor is bustling
I feel it under my feet
Through the soles
Of my shoes


The hallway floor is empty
I feel it in my head
Through the ringing 
In my ears


The hallway floor is falling
I feel it in my neck
Through the break
Of my cervical spine


The hallway floor is hollow
I feel it in my hands
Through the nothing reaching the touch
Of my fingertips


The hallway floor swallowed me
I feel it in my flesh
Through the crust of me it ate off
Of my bones

[rowens]

This poem doesn't have much aFFECT
due to sentence structure.

There is no irony or humor or surrealism nOR audacity here to touch anything.


The concrete feeling of moving through the hallway is what works; the rest is feathers in a pillow when the pillow is like most people have nowadays and there're no frathers, typo, I mean: fathers, shit, : feathers.