A life littered, no
clean slates on the mall
for her to slide through. That hole
in your drapes no longer
fools anyone—not even her. She’s more
interested in blinds
that camouflage what sticks
to the pane.
A life littered, no
clean slates on the mall
for her to slide through. That hole
in your drapes no longer
fools anyone—not even her. She’s more
interested in blinds
that camouflage what sticks
to the pane.
Upside down hurricane
lamps hang
from a ceiling’s exposed
bones in a place
called SPACE. Drapes
for walls, everyone can see
what the cooks are doing
with the night.
There’s nowhere
in this space
to hide. And yet
the singer won’t appear
till it’s time.