Rose of the Winds

I hide inside
this shirt that hangs
below the thigh
on one side.

I would never
willingly return
to Vegas. Would board
the slowest train, if

it headed home.
Cardinal directions

are an illusion I can’t read
from this distance.
My internal compass
isn’t moral, doesn’t glow

in the dark. Invisible currents
tend to glide the vessel east.

One thought on “Rose of the Winds

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