Say it as thoughts aloud…
and don’t escape fire —
the literati are douches:
name on a page about
an about turn, about a turn.
Say it as a bored play reading…
a left here, a stair run there —
wide-narrow up, may I serve you:
water as you wait for husband
or boyfriend, or touch him, what he’d turn into.
Say it as a sartorial satire…
a restauranteur who decks wait rooms —
she walks the motions of ideation:
keeps the cats, keep the money
kept is the wife, gives thanks, neighborly.
Say it as a felt emotion…
a sorority that plays waitress —
a field diary is a freshman:
beauty who if she knew the rules
for role re-dole in dialogue, no rollicking.
Say it as a city that mazes characters…
bump into so much gaslit —
pockets of discourse you patch together:
straw woman of a person
of a persona, perchance, in an artsdom.