It was like a second home. Pull the covers over your head. Make believe a tent in which to live, spy on people through the holes in the threads. Small vision. A view of the world through a bed sheet. No eye contact. Constant, even-flowing, peer out to the wonder in life’s journey — through bed sheets. Stand too close, and all you can see is a belly button. Raise a sheet and see more — but that’s not safe. He may see you.

 

        Shoes danced over the room. Above as tap tap tap from dancing shoes. Fall down. Betting and touting to hear more, squatting noise with power.

 

        A board could slip through, a crack or lime could fall free-style into the headboards. Situating noise and strength as an institution to live by until you die. It all goes hand in hand over a hill without sand between your toes, pretending to know what it is yu were told to know. Sense lacking.

 

        Partial attributes were solid qualities to judge by. Silent frowns meant death, no way to ever get the corners of the mouth up again, a frown was permanent. Guidelines set out to be