From simple showers

Squeeze steady streams.

Bursting out of

A stainless – steel resovoir,

Marching in single file surges,

Encouraged and

Propelled by

A certain pressure,

That always remains unseen.

(And is scarcely understood)

Trapped behind at least,

Two layers of 

Chlorinated vinyl,

That rivals even the silkiest of spider-webs,

Whistles or hums can scarcely be heard,

The same forgotten jaunty tunes,

That permanently echo from tile to tile,

Combined

With dripping and  the sound of

Swirling drains,

Work to create an empty soundtrack.

(Imitating the soapy footsteps of these washed-up ghosts)

But never really replacing them.

 And over in the 

 Condensated corner,

Is an unfortunate bathroom plant.

And near it,

Is where the also-unfortunate

Spiders,

Live their tiny existance.

Not feeding,

Or farming but instead,

(While having no other obvious contributions to submit)

Spin untimely,

Wayward piles of dust,

Into tiny oragami dolls

And file them

Away in cracks that resemble cabinets,

Created by

The constant erosion of faulty caulking.

This is no place for this beacon of beauty.

This resemblance of life stuck in

This misty,

 Only-lit-by-lightbulbs jungle.

This lonely arboreal diety,

Hearing the constant slam

Of sliding glass

And mistaking them for

Jublious claps of thunder past,

That are now never followed by rain, but instead

Bubbles and the smell of bleach.

The flickering of artificial

Light,

Looks like lightning,

(For a split second)

But generates no substantial form of

Outstanding electricity.

It will forever only ever feel the 

Stinging touch of reclaimed rainwater.

(That is universally known to be undrinkable.)

This confused caladium,

Infused with expiring carbon will

Forever be confused about its

Obviously mistaken placement.

Because expecting acceptable maitanence,

In a purgatorial place such as this,

Is unequivocally unacceptable.

Because more often than not,

The best botany,

Is undoubtedly bred,

On the best of balconies.