The Dyke’s Complaint

epicene-writing:

Here
comes the Dyke, from night to night,

A neon light,

A smoke.

Here
comes the Dyke, and her footsteps

Are
glued with spit,

Are
marked with teeth;

She
seeps from darker walls,

Standing
still, or walks

Or
disappears into the depths

Of
a silent subway.

Her
face? you ask

Her
clothes?

Thicker
than silk,

Smoother
than wool

That’s
all you need to know.

Here
comes the Dyke,

Alone,
and so

That
her shadow’s thinking

About
leaving for good

And
in the Dyke’s shadow

Raise,
and fall

A
sobbing girl

Huddled
on the floor

Under
a tapestry –

The
moon’s absent,

No
lamp is lit at the window

And
trains are passing by:

Here
goes the Dyke, who knows

That
her shadow won’t leave for now.