I'm tired of this window sill.

I'm tired of this window sill,
I'm tired of the blinds.
I'm tired of the sitting still,
the hum of idle minds.

I'm tired of the curtains, and
their vapid violet hue -
there is no more profoundly bland
or lifeless shade of blue.

I'm tired of the windowpanes,
their rotting wooden frame;
the cracks, the dust, the streaks and stains,
forevermore the same.

I'm tired of this window sill,
I sit here every day.
I'm tired of this window, still -
I cannot look away.

Perjury

I lied to you that day, but I have never told a lie.
 In perjury, I walked away,
 but led no mortal ears astray
 with oral alibi.

For fibs do wear so thin, when they entangle thus with speech -
 a lie, therefore, is not a sin,
so long as it remains within,
 unseen and out of reach.