Forty-Six Degrees on the Bathroom Wall

Only half of my face peeks from the corner,

steal my clothes

eclipse of body—

your penumbra.


The forestrial grabbing of breast

of beached toenail clippings,

of tagged feet wrapped in chains—

from shadows I crawl.


Forty and five blows to the wall,

white ghost canvas—

and my blood the paint of tastings.


One degree gradient,

draw me to the left—

thick bitch texture

of trying, skin theft…




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