each day I change into a

woman my clothes
don’t fit my own quiet I

change into
a woman anyway

even though my head’s
far away I change my

head to look more
human I change

my woman-fitting into
a slipshod set of daily

gear I’m not
clear today as a woman

I’m never clear of
what changing can

do when fitted into
a woman as clothes

or the human as
I woman as a woman

and put on another
day’s shift I’m far away

and have never figured a
fit for clothes or

the undone seams of
a woman into each day’s

pinch of garb into
a faraway split where

my head goes with
the gear change how

I need appear tugging
a zip clear of the ruckus

clothes unravelling
a woman who

slips not quite into