The mouth of hell
invites discord with your mum
if you are her son;
welcomes rage against your old man
if you are his daughter.

And then comes,
the following
drawn-out silence…

And there is a feeling
then, common among dreamers,
in which the dreamer is falling.
You feel this feeling
and wish you could be thrown awake.

There on the floor
are all of your passed pets.
Look at them!

Down a clockwise-spinning,
counterclockwise-winding staircase
toward the worst first attempts
at lust and passion.

The arrival and the exodus
are muddled—
Time, here,
swallowed by hell’s mouth,
is out of any mind.


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