I danced a menace in a Tokyo brothel
a seance meant to induce sleep
the rural men of the country held rulers to my legs
makeshift submarines to plunge into the total darkness
Menthol cigarettes and ruby drops of blood
on the cold tile floor of the art museum
it turns out the statue
was just a prop
and all that dances around here is flies
exquisite corpse? hardly
the Dia de las Muertos in Pilsen brings forth
every forgotten memory
stuck to the sides of my mind like salt in a cave
I crave every footstep
in the hallway in the stairs
in the bank vault
in the pressure
and the release
of control
