this stillness
punches
in the blood
we fail to bury
what is still
this stillness
the silverware is oily
hair is oily
music becomes oily
when it leaves the speakers
the stillness
weighs down the drums
beneath the quiver
of a doorbell
that is a kitchen knife
rising over a block of
cheese
so well dressed
no hot water
no heat
no hot water
for almost two weeks
the pads
of the cat's paws
tap away from you
towards the door
the doorbell again
you look at your phone
you shiver
to your blankets