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In My Room

In my room
walking inside I bumped from place to place.
Hung around with papers.
I sat on my couch.
And the outside noise lilted like
something left for drying.
here was a large white owl
and ceiling with four corners 
and a lamp in the middle.
The radio is on.
A noise behind me.
A hiss under such wallpaper as papier-mache
tilted somewhere out of reach.
Inside back and forth could not bear
on the floor a trampling storm.
For such as seems likely of the radio, the air, the noises
as would the owl and the papers flying.

This is prose is from one of my first attempts. Thanks for reading!

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In My Room