exposed

at the bottom
of an empty washtub
where the grit's left
bare against rippled steel
something leads you
to hear a beat
that only you can make
     detached from it
you thought
everything would fall
into place
     you miscued
a hollow sound rises
like a drum
tingles the hair
in your armpits
squeezes out confusing rhythms
always dropping a half-step
     you try to latch on
but fail to catch up
leaving
like a bead
sweating it out
     alone

--- e b bortz