I stare blankly at the white windowless wall
As it coughs dust and its paint flakes.
Mapping the speckles like stars
In the galaxy,
I sit,
patiently,
Waiting for
An idea to be transmitted from
Another universe.
A universe where poetry
Comes naturally,
And walls are made without
Imperfections.
As shadows lower
With the setting sun,
The wall changes hues,
Fading into the black
Night outside.
Finally something
Interesting to write about:
A camouflaging wall.