Hair is only so much waste.

Alive, it was brushed, sprayed,

combed by the fingers of a lover’s hand.

Dead, it’s disowned.

It was never yours.  Grease, dead skin cells,

tabloid exposé (the brown roots

of the flawless platinum strands)

The traces you don’t want left behind.

.

Hair, omnipresent.  It mushrooms.

It breeds like bacteria on an agar plate.

It spreads like infection through the rooms of a house.

Colonies form on pillows, the headrests of sofas,

whole orogenies of the floors of barbershops.

No surface free

.

from the single stray strand, the first insidious squatter

clusters, carpets, civilizations,

the spawning of empires.

The sinuous debris of humanity.

Descending, chokehold

deathgrip

to clog the bathroom sink.