In a half-made bed of a house
most hair was shocked.
There was a potty full of piss
in the corner and conversations
in headlocks. There was death
on the television – loud door
knocks – no answers – a dancer
then to avoidance…
She shook her stuff, till
her clothes collapsed in a
heap beneath her – ether
she cried as she collapsed
deeper into the folds of
herself – no room for fat
dancers, romancers, melters
or chancers, no room for anyone.
Listen
