the slant 
a building settling around me 
my figure female framed crookedly 
in the threshold 
of the room 
door scraping floorboards 
with every opening 
carving a rough history 
of bedroom scenes 
the plot hard to follow 
the text obscured 
in the fields of sheets 
slowly gathering the stains 
of seasons spent lying there 
red and brown 
like leaves fallen 
the colors of an eternal cycle 
fading with the 
wash cycle 
and the rinse cycle 
again an unfamiliar smell 
like my name misspelled 
or misspoken 
a cycle broken 
the sound of them strong 
stalking talking about their prey 
like the way hammer meets nail 
pounding, they say 
pounding out the rhythms of attraction 
like a woman was a drum like a body was a weapon 
like there was something more they wanted 
than the journey 
like it was owed to them 
steel toed they walk 
and I'm wondering why this fear of men 
maybe it's because I'm hungry 
and like a baby I'm dependent on them 
to feed me 
I am a work in progress 
dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding 
offering me intricte patterns of questions 
rhythms that never come clean 
and strengths that you still haven't seen