Inside the apartment,
everything is very quiet.

He leans back on the cushioned chair

and taps the asymetrical
salsa rhythm

on the windowsill.

That and that alone
makes sense,

where everything slips away from recognition,

leaving him disoriented
and adrift,

the repeating pattern of the afrocuban drums

vibrates within him like an ancient bell.

He slaps the
wood hard

and,
without any words,

makes a clear decision,

one that slips through the soft textured inner membranes

of the thin brown body he now occupies.

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