Don't know what to name it

I live in the little bones
That grow from the tips of my fingers
And catch and tear away the veil
To reveal the blank wall beneath
I drag a stool across the floor
And sit as though at a window
No less One than the Other
Or more.

The light-bulb filament fizzes
And with a glass sound goes out,
But my view is not diminished.
Was there even ever any power
Jumping through the walls?

With my little finger-bones
I slowly chip away the legs
So that the slightest shift of weight
Would send me to the floor
But I sit still on that precipice
Watching the wall within my eyes
Or distant waiting in the dark
Hoping for a cataclysm
Utterly afraid to move.

10 April 2007