Amsterdam

I stalk the rooms—

the light bulbs wearing
their best silks
& throwing bloodied roses
across the walls,

the women spin-cycling
in every window

like sharpened spokes.

Something behind
my temple
twitches & kicks—

my plush organs
like fainting couches

& the fever in my spine

radiating color
onto every surface.

They’re practicing
their circus leg tricks
with their brusque
burlesque hair

as the men throw
salivating wolves
against the glass—

the only protection
for their flustered limbs.

I am lost in the hallways
with the arousal
of agitating silence—

gripping the walls
for solid muscle

but coming back with
chunks of plaster

that seep through
my fingers in jolts.

The droning white noise
replaces me for hours—

the pressure building
as my chest shrinks
against my lungs,

hardwood biting my lip
inside this womb that

never stops spinning.