This too-honest light through such outdated curtains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.