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

Of 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.