door shut, alone
how quickly cracks
shiver at sixes and sevens,
a cave-in of bricks

in a lifting bubble,
a present perfect tense,
clots lose their pull
in soft water rinse

exhale, relax
my muscles, my face
natural not lacking
perfections erased

rising five stories
is not enough climb
to clean every corner
or stretch out my limbs

door slides clear
tossed into the den
meet simonized stares –
presentable men

First published in Lyre Lyre, April 2013