This too-honest light through such outdated curtains

guides nightmare-wide eyes to the half open robe.

much too much black and some anxious red floral

crowding and wrinkling and escaping from wire.

Scrapping in uniform — some stilted dance

can it be all these items are playing their roles

in some weird narrative inadvertently told?

Perhaps cataloguing some bizarre Freudian slip

of this someone who’s never been known.



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