Writing prose
For phantoms
Dressed in women’s clothes
I dance
Gothic audience
Lipstick wearing men
Growing breasts like buds
In a vase
Shaped like a
Bathroom stall
The yellow world
Giving in to the
Blue hand of the
Next red door
Leading me
To frightfully cold conclusions
About ashtrays and
Track lights
Straying away from
Clandestine meetings
Into outsides
Here I’m safe