Eve.

Skull baby darling doll face;
She's in a
Small apartment locked in always
Alone on her floor
Domesticated and boxed up--two windows poked through the walls for air and sunrays;
She's
Drawn to them looking out dazed
Suffers awe
Watches, paused in a thoughtful blockade...

Its small, and lived in
Room without a number, the walls are rock, thick, slum project standing tall, she's top fiction, in the clouds, sees the town, all of it
Static sky, fizzing over old buildings, bold flashing sign, UGLY AMERICANS, massive line
Biggest businness in the whole city;
Smoke twisting high, drifting from its backyard factory, the Museum of Agony;

Small world, lots of skeletons, some people
Small girl, all intelligence, none speaking, in her couch curled her television is up peaking when she's not perched on her sill and just stuck dreaming
Unvacuumed carpet, acoustic wrapping and scattered gowns, trash bags, and raptured books with half the chapters gashed out
Chews them to calm her nerves;
Phots nailed to the walls, refuses to get her clock to work;
Wearing old tees and sweat pants;
Nontuple locks on the door
No one visits