Who is the personage
his entrails smeared
along the toilet bowl
his cigarette ash
cradled in the tile grout?

Could we read the entrails
could we break the window
of the overheated rented rooms
the widowed madness
pacing the shagged floors
passing the dust signified figurines
the cake caked doilies
the smoky TV light
hanging long
above the convenience store
in the shuttered afternoon?