Oh Turkey!

Hamam

oh Cemal
there are no
candles
on a navel stone
a man grew me
frightened
in the manner
of chips
I was fried
and I became
the method
of sandpaper
and I didn’t expect
this
from my face
sloppy seconds
from buckets
of water
an idiom
of red spots
aspirations
of presence
in this way
I was wiped
clean