Red Fortress

Red fortress, I’ll expose to you
my undersides, my concentrating
mastery and derelict non-futures.
Carrying electrical direction as
a frame entering the ordained position
where we are caught. My legs
and the washing machine, a metal
coil and windows below as headlights
return. Barracks expanded slightly
with side streets but always nosed
in the same direction. Guiding ceiling
and descending steps, having touched
another and certain you would never be
able to pull out. Diction and sarcasm
are a constant predicament. I was certain
you only existed when I was there,
disbelief in your alacrity, your ability
to be seen by others. Fair tenderness
opposes inability. I have other ways
to conjure remarkable flooring and the idea
of hair and shaped chin. A weight
looking down upon the hollow,
feigning repose. My back wall against
introduction allies what is intentional
and what results from chance:
the whitening of extension. Serenity
articulated and refined through
fingers like industrial boxes in the distance,
releasing what they have successfully
altered. Journeys and shoulders
and nudge-nudging, a repetitive chorus,
an octave according to blue, according
to the box it emanates from. A constant
intake of ways to get out of here. Ownership
is achieved in bunches and bellows
from the height of a shelf, arms stretched
upward at nothing. Hands open wide again
and again in their well-exercised routine.