I sprawled across my new diversion, a toughened, square rug that had once bravely entertained the dalliances of a venerable life. So much so, that the colors twirled away in every insipid direction. The blues or blacks, depending on the amount of remaining light or the observer’s level of self-absorption, were either heading towards the wall, at which the rusty past was purposely staring–renouncing the reach of derivation– or debuting a kinder intention by banishing my contortions from an imperishable, blustering range. The stems and petals were nowhere near as vibrant as their outdoor relatives, I am no longer convinced that there was any real color remaining for the reconditioned prints, as they were cropped as a creamy reserve that necessitated a nudge to be curious enough to crawl. Vines could become hedges if weary. Still, in fairness, I was heavily placed on top of the designed recesses of hope. There was a faint scent left by those who were suckered in before me. Perhaps in their time, the cause was more noble, and the patterns were bright and dyed to represent a regal life whose birthright was guaranteed by full warranty. Could I be the accessory that was burnt orange and brazenly defective? Or was there no crime in planning my authority, while apologizing for momentarily going soft? I counted at least three cats and two dogs as I thought about which one was remembered as the most loyal and who was disparaged for being pretend. As for the decorum, that involved one’s choice of synonym. My auto-response presented me with “ground” and “floor”, average the two and the median preferences were accepted in most circles as interchangeable. But when objectified–as in being held–I was retained by the compressions of a rectangle, two vexing borders if ranking an intruder as defiant. Now the conjunction that personified the depth of my queries was merely a life raft that had been perforated, while being raked across the crest of a boiling dream. Inside the brilliance of the late day, chilly sun- even a few of the splashiest bracts were falling. “Ground floor” was not a prism that yielded a clever escape, above the fluffy new world, I would long be remembered as the captive prince–whose redolence the monochrome era would never believe to fade—or accept as the aspiration— the travels of a bluenose- woven amidst the bright spotted weeds —-tattooed by the archaic copper plate.