Trigger Point

I take
this—my lefty
self—to the floorboards to
remember how dance was once the
response,

the space
to tuck into
last night’s vision of my
duende and guardian angel
rocking

out in
the alley. The
temperature having
dropped below sinister, they were
trying

to keep
warm. Open stairs
elevate the terror
to a new plateau where I stage
the old

did she
jump or was she
pushed penultimate act,
gravity and geometry
at work.

Blinds that
open crooked
or not at all, need a
new way to exercise our right
to light.

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