No spiral staircase descending
from my one window
over the city.
No man seeing
my stare
longing.
I won't admit it
grinding my teeth,
flaring my nostrils,
stomping my feet...
High
cloud underbellies
muscled
men
I cannot reach...
I scream and those above only hear
a faint whistling of some common bird.
Published in Catapult To Mars- 1/18/11
