Up high no one can see me . . .

Bookshelf lids hold my ballet ankle

Graze my hand on splinters and beams

Mechanical wires left weaving up here

Dust and dandruff

Chandeliers’ necks for the slitting

And just a general air of heat rising

And reek and rabble

And not to mention of course the birds

It’s a reunion of sorts for unsorted and squeezed

And given-up-upon down-troddens

And the distinct annoyance that no one ever looks up

My eye hurts

Girl with needs and fears