AGAINST THE WALL AND IN YOUR FACE

Lips sewn with zippers, and a pentagram
that he enters with a name that is not his own.
It's always dark in the motel of our instinct: morning and evening
are night, and the night never ends: the fear of sunlight
felt by a nightowl. And in your guts, a funeral silence: a darker
side of yourself that fills the corridors so that no-one
else can get by and thefore avoids any breakdown.
Tic-tac: the fetid air of closed spaces, of cold temples,
or damp earth. Tic-tac: the high heels of time:
you get the shivers, the wax crackles on your arms
when the domina enters with her makeup like an angel
and shatters the shadows within without even touching him:
"straighten your knees and face the wall
and you, the other one, take off the mask and look at me
and tell me if you want to become a pathetic statue,
a Victorian doll with a pneumatic smile".
After the scene, the usual heartfelt thanks.
As he leaves it is morning outside.The sound of air conditioners.
The burning thirst has been satiated.
He walks through Surry Hills a little stunned.
At home he opens and closes himself in:
only in a window can movement be seen;
a moth that burns blindingly with a blue light.