In the Used Bookstore

The Power of Feminist Art
spins across the ceiling
and I wonder why no one has ever thought
to equip a couch with seatbelts
for gravity cannot be trusted
and I’m drowning on the water in my throat

the stripes on the opposite easy chair converge
in a million vanishing points and I fall forward
into the center of all that sharpness

until
the book is on the shelf again
next to The World Guide to Antiquities
and the stripes are parallel once more
and I have to go to the bathroom which is surely
a symptom of a normally balanced brain