It wasn’t a place

where I could look for different spellings

of the same sentiments

meant as alternative

ways to lay into sleep

fashioning new dreams…

even the Palmistry techniques

I learned

by experimentation

wouldn’t allow

the creases of my spread hands

to divulge the truth.

It was weather

like seasons attempting to sing

obscure language

shapeshifting unwanted punctuation

churning body of impulse

writhing against stains

and coils

that foyer crested and stared down

kaleidoscope sheets of milk

eating ankles and sweating

turning sunken into just a hallway

a corridor of only

as many sides

as were meant from inside

the head scratching

to be necessary to just breathe

to quake, to shiver

to remember training

ghosts