For the Ghost of Hart Crane

Again, the rustling of a piece of toilet-paper summons you back, bringing you pacing & fidgeting down the long cell-blocks of cubicles, trying the doors or pretending to be looking for a nickel until suddenly, your few seconds up, the automatic flushing system unleashes, discharging you back into your drowning.

Hart, stay back there & forget me-- forget this system their pumping refills, this stillness already being baited with fresh rustlings.