7 stories down from where she lives   below the floor and past the voice   that says that things are his   through carpets, talking, paint layered on the walls   and eyes that roll like dice   when she walks past them in the hall   outside her window   the sun spins with the red of summertime   and time moves so slow when she's stuck inside      there was a night last week   she saw stars from her room   over the building next door   with the hydro line tower on the roof   she thought about airplanes   and satellites orbiting low   while aspirins and drawn curtains   avoid the urge to go away   from where the old couple out across the street   dancing like actors in their open windows   for all the world to see   shuffling like papers for all the world to read   "can't you see my dear?   there's someone in that window over there..."