Hollow

What is this? Crack-pate sax sly
stare from stand, broken shelf and
Beckett, eagle in my mind, can
crushed and empty on dirty floor,
draught under the door, itchy head,
bad haircut and unmade bed,
books unread, an out of tune guitar,
a blunt pencil brushing scrunched
paper on the floor, the walls, desk
unused, stupid plates and ashy mouth,
and what is this?! My kingdom?
My tower? A hollow where I rest
my head? A hollow fetid nest
for sleep and waking sleep and dumb
staring at a screen and feeling numb,
never feeling warm but in my mind.
What? A purgatory of a kind,
coop-flown, alone, I sleep til noon
and ache, and pin my thoughts on June.