Tall blocks of black and holding safe. To open, to empty, and left in place.
“Where is the ladies’?”
And so I find, your playing shadows on dirt and pine.
A face I make in mirrors long, and soap so thin and almost gone.
Flashes; moving an image, of chaos and violence hidden so perversely,
I look and wait and want to run,
Wet hands, damp feet from mucky’s turn.
Quick steps, cold handles, I leave whispers of ghosts behind,
In toilets in safe houses and public places to find.